


The Blood that Binds

by Alistairs_Queen



Series: Mana Ladies [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 227,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alistairs_Queen/pseuds/Alistairs_Queen
Summary: I have been a huge fan of the Dragon Age game series since Origins was released. Not many people I know in person play the games, so I decided to give them a way to experience the wonderful stories through my eyes. I used a lot of the conversations straight from the games and then added my own little tidbits, asides, and thoughts to the mix.





	1. The trust of a friend

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the story of Solona Amell. It can get a bit dicey sometimes, but that's what magic is for.

The Harrowing Chamber. It was a place in the Circle Tower that Solona had never been. Her hands trembled as she approached the group of Templars that were congregated around a small pedestal topped with a bowl full of glowing Lyrium. There had been no warning. She had gone to bed that night thinking it was just any other night. She had been sound asleep when the youngest of the Templars in the tower, Cullen, had gently shaken her awake and asked her to dress and follow him. In a way, she had been preparing for this moment since the day she had been ripped from her parents at age 6 and brought to the tower. She could not remember a life without magic. Her power had flared early in life. One of her most vivid memories was the one of the woman she remembered as her mother sobbing on the street, crumbling as her father held her back from attacking the armed and armored men who were dragging her baby from her. She cringed as the memory resurfaced. She paused as she caught sight of First Enchanter Irving, his aged face surrounded by gray hair and a bushy beard held an expression of fear, pride, sadness and confidence all wrapped up in one.

She stood with her own back stiff and straight, her brown hair falling around her shoulders. She had not even had a chance to pull it into a tail after pulling on her blue apprentice robes. A few of the other apprentices had woken up with the commotion and watched on in horror as she'd been led out of their dormitories by a Templar. Knight Commander Greagoir stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his shiny silver plate armor looking extra spiffy. _For me? You shouldn't have..._ she thought as he cleared his throat and began to speak a Canticle from the Chant of Light. “Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him...”

Solona blocked out the hollow words, returning her attention to the First Enchanter. He seemed to be attempting to tell her something with his eyes, but she was not close enough with the man to really understand what he wanted to tell her. She had never made many friends in the tower among her fellow mages. Some had been afraid of their own power, others had been afraid of the Templars. Only a couple had the sense of adventure that she herself seemed to shoulder like a burden, marking her as an outcast. She had forced herself into the lives of some of the older mages, ones who had already passed their Harrowing and had been allowed to leave the Tower. She was eager to learn all she could of her gift. She'd studied hard and surpassed her peers, able to perform spells from many of the branches of magic, unwilling to choose a specialty as some of the others had. The First Enchanter had always struck her as a pious old man with far too much respect for the Templars' rules. He had great power, but he never used it to change things. Instead, he spent his days arguing with Greagoir.

When the Templar Commander finished his speech, Solona returned her green-blue gaze to him and narrowed her eyes. Had he just said he was sending her into the Fade? So it was face a demon or be forced into the Rite of Tranquility. She shuddered at the thought. The tranquil around the tower frightened her. The large Chantry brand on their foreheads added an ominous look to the soulless gaze of their eyes. They were so empty. She refused to become _that_. She clenched her fists and drew herself taller, her chin jutting outwards in confidence. “And if I fail?” she asked, with a surprising amount of steadiness in her voice.

“Then the templars will do their duty and strike you down,” Greagoir said without feeling, his gaze flicking over to Cullen. She moved her eyes to him as well and he shuffled his feet, his hands grasping the hilt of his sword tightly as if he didn't know what to do with them. His eyes roved over her and his cheeks reddened before he looked away at anything but her. She had seen him taking interest in her as she roamed the halls on her time off. She had been to every part of the Tower she could get to, which until that very moment had not included the large open room they now stood in. It was dark and cold, with no furniture besides the pedestal where the bowl of Lyrium sat, glowing eerily and casting strange shadows all around them. She had even found the dark dungeon that the Templars had turned into a solitary confinement. On one of her recent visits there, she had met a very interesting mage who called himself Anders. She had not gotten a look at his face in the darkness, but they had talked for quite some time about his six escape attempts from the tower. She had left wishing she was as brave as him to risk the Templars' wrath by running away. She had not returned because the ever vigilant Cullen had nearly caught her leaving. Perhaps after passing her Harrowing, she could add him to her short list of 'accomplishments' around the tower, gleaning some Templar favor and a bit of leniency.

The First Enchanter held his hand out, indicating the Lyrium and drawing Solona from her musings. The last thing on her mind should be who she was going to hop in bed with next. The next few hours would determine the rest of her life. “What happens during the Harrowing is a secret for a reason, child. Keep your wits about you while you are in the Fade...” He continued lecturing, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as he tried to guide her.

Greagoir stepped in and said, “The apprentice must pass this test alone, Irving.” Solona glared at both of them. Did the First Enchanter think so little of her that he thought she needed guidance in her Harrowing? From Greagoir's reaction, it seemed that the warning was not something Irving offered to all apprentices. “You _are_ ready,” Greagoir said gently, offering her more confidence than the First Enchanter had.

She nodded and approached the pedestal. The Lyrium ebbed and flowed as if it were hungry to be free of it's confinement. She reached out her hand and the silvery-blue liquid reached back, her fingers touching it. It was warm and she dipped her fingers further into the bowl, her nails tapping the bottom as the liquid crawled up her arm. It burned like fire against her skin and she gritted her teeth as it reached inside her. There was an enchantment on the Lyrium. She could feel it seeping through her pores. Her lids became heavy and her limbs leaden as the Lyrium was absorbed into her skin.

_She awoke in a wide open area that strangely resembled a warped representation of the Harrowing Chamber itself. Around her stood several disturbing statues that reminded her of the statues she'd seen depicted, in books, of Maferath, Andraste's earthly husband. Only these Avvar statues had long tentacles for arms. Everything in her peripheral was fuzzy as if it didn't really exist until she looked directly at it. She tested her magic, drawing power from her core where she spindled her mana. The cool familiarity of her magic wound down to her fingers and small sparks of lightning crackled in her palm. She smiled, glad that she at least had protection._

_She pulled the mana back to her center, saving up all of her strength to use against the demon that was likely to attack her sooner or later. That was the test of the Harrowing after all, to see if she was a good enough mage to fight off possession. She glanced around, looking for a way out of the clearing she was in. She began walking, her body feeling oddly light. She hadn't gone far when curious little wisps took an interest in her. They floated around her, like little balls of light. She reached out and as soon as her fingers touched the nearest one, they turned hostile. They zipped around her at lightening speed, throwing short bursts of energy at her that stung like little needles when they made contact with her flesh. She grunted and batted at the wisps, trying to conserve mana, but they kept coming. Finally, she raised her hands and brought down a barrier around her to keep her safe from the shocks and then unleashed a flurry of icicles that sought each wisp like a beacon. They disappeared into Fade nothingness when struck and Solona sighed, dropping her barrier and coiling the remainder of her mana back in her chest. She made a mental note to not touch any more wisps and pushed forward. The faster she found and defeated the demon, the faster she could leave._

_Not far along the same path, she spotted a mouse sitting rather obviously in the middle of the road. She glanced around in suspicion of the strange occurrence, and then made to walk around it. “Another apprentice thrown to the wolves.”_

_She yelped and jumped backwards as the mouse spoke to her. “What in Andraste's name...”_

_The mouse began to shimmer and then it grew, reshaping itself into a person. He was a young man, probably a year or two older than her 19 with light brown hair and a ruddy complexion. He was dressed in apprentice robes that resembled hers, but looked old and shabby. “It's always the same,” he sighed. “They toss you into the Fade to face a demon without so much as a warning, then you wind up like me.”_

“ _Who are you?” she asked, swallowing her heart and crossing her arms._

“ _I was once like you. An apprentice. I took too long with my Harrowing and the Templars cut me down. Now I'm trapped here without a body to return to,” he explained, sadness on his face._

_Solona refused to panic. “How long exactly do I have?”_

“ _Not long. You can call me... well, Mouse. If you like, I can accompany you. I've become quite accustomed to the Fade around here,” he offered._

_Solona was unsure whether she should trust this 'Mouse', but she had little choice. If he knew the area, possibly he could get her to the demon she needed to face. She nodded her consent and the man disappeared to be replaced by his mouse form. She was curious where he had learned that little trick. Shapeshifting was an extremely rare talent to master. It certainly wasn't taught in the Circle._

_He followed her for a time, warning her away from a clearing to her right where the demon dwelled, assuring her that she wasn't ready yet to face it. She sighed and followed the path laid out before her, noticing a small armory that was set up at the top of a small hill. When her eyes fell on a spirit guarding the armory, Mouse spoke up. “A spirit of Valor. Perhaps it will help you.”_

_Solona warily approached the being and it cocked it's head at her. It was not curious, of that she was certain. A feeling of pity washed over her and the spirit sighed. “You have come to face the demon that dwells in these parts as so many before you. I wish you luck.”_

“ _I could do with a little more than luck. Did you forge all of these weapons?” She glanced over the arsenal and her eyes fell on a beautifully crafted staff with elegant runework._

“ _They are brought into being by my will,” it explained. “Is it true that only mages in your world can will things into being.” With a nod from Solona it sighed sadly. “Those other poor mortals must lead such hollow lives.”_

“ _Would one of your weapons affect the demon here? If so, might I borrow one?” Solona asked._

“ _Indeed they would. Do you truly wish one of my weapons? I am a spirit of Valor. I exist for battle. Duel me and I will allow you to depart with the weapon of your choice, should you defeat me.”_

_Solona stepped back and frowned. “It seems you wish to kill me yourself.”_

_The spirit growled. “How dare you accuse me! I am no demon preying on helpless mortals to steal their essence. I am a being of honor!”_

_She crossed her arms. “So instead, you challenge helpless mortals to duels they can't win without one of the weapons that you refuse to hand over unless they win an impossible duel?”_

“ _You are insolent,” the spirit said with a sneer. “But you have the will that matches only the strongest warriors. Fine. You may take a weapon, for you possess the strength you will need to face the demon here.”_

_Solona smiled and accepted the staff that the spirit handed her. She had only ever practiced with staves before. As an apprentice, you weren't allowed your own staff. It was too much power handed to one that was not yet skilled enough to wield it. The wood hummed in her hands, the magic of the Fade reacting to her own. It was a pleasant feeling and she gripped the shaft tighter, relishing the power. Now she had a staff, but Mouse was still wary. She continued on, keeping her staff clutched in her hands. Soon, they came upon another demon that seemed much more interested in sleeping than in caring about what they had to say. It was curled in a ball, it's shape vaguely that of a bear. When Solona approached it warily, it lifted its head slightly to look at them, but yawned and merely asked if Mouse was to be a snack for it. When Mouse turned back into his human form and tried to tug her away from the demon, it sniffed indignantly. “The demon will catch you eventually and perhaps I will be allowed some scraps should there be any left.”_

“ _Are you certain there is nothing you can do to help me?” Solona asked._

“ _You have that... lovely staff. Go, be valorous...” the large bear yawned._

“ _Perhaps he could teach you to be like him,” Mouse suggested, looking over the demon's form._

_The creature let out a half laugh. “The mortal is too attached to it's form to be taught any different. You might be a better student since you already have another form.”_

_Mouse trembled nervously. “If I were a bear, I couldn't hide very well.” Solona glared at him, and he sighed. “But I will become a bear if it will help. Teach me.”_

_The demon yawned again. “That sounds an awful lot like work. I am not fond of the idea. Be gone.”_

“ _You can't just offer to teach Mouse and then change your mind,” Solona nearly shouted._

“ _Fine. Fine... I offer you this. Answer three riddles correctly and I will teach the mouse to be a bear,” the demon offered._

_Solona frowned. She was generally good at riddles, but this was the Fade. Maker knew what the demon might ask. “If it will amuse you, I'll do it,” she said, leaning on her staff._

“ _Oh, goody,” the bear said, finally getting to it's feet with a massive grunt of effort. “Listen closely mortal. Fail and I shall devour you both... My first riddle. I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people and mountains without land. What am I?”_

_Solona mumbled the riddle back to herself, her brain rapidly working the riddle out. “A map,” she said confidently._

_The demon grumbled sadly as she presented the correct answer. “Correct. Let's move on... I am rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?”_

_Solona had spent her life being told that her wit would get her in trouble some day, so she didn't even need to think about this answer. “My tongue,” she said immediately._

_The demon grunted. “Yes, your witty tongue... I am running out of chances to earn my supper. One last riddle, then... Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but alas you won't remember me. What am I?”_

_What a silly question to ask the person that was actually experiencing the answer at that very moment. “A dream. Make these riddles harder next time.” She crossed her arms and the demon leered at her._

“ _Correct... rather apropos here in the Fade, I suppose. Very well. You win. Listen closely little one, for I shall only teach you once...”_

_After a few moments, Mouse was thinking rather hard, his face looking strained. Suddenly a bright flash appeared and when Solona looked back at the man, he was no longer a man, but a large bear. “Did it work?” he asked excitedly. “I feel heavy.”_

“ _Now be gone. I tire of you both,” the demon sighed and dropped back down to resume it's nap._

“ _Now that you're a bear, we can defeat the demon hunting me together,” Solona exclaimed, turning back in the direction they'd come._

_Mouse followed, returning to his smaller form while they traveled. Solona marched back to the clearing that he had warned her away from and when she stepped into the circle, a barrier lifted, barring her escape. “Finally you have come to me,”a deep liquidy voice chortled before a creature bubbled into existence across the field. It was made entirely of pure lava. A pool of magma served as it's base, stretching up to form a mildly human form with two arms and some semblance of a head. Mouse stood beside her in his human form and the demon glanced at him. “It will be so nice to see the mortal world through your eyes. What took you so long to bring this one to me, Mouse?”_

_Solona's eyes flicked to her companion and he stepped forward threateningly. “I am not a Mouse anymore. I don't need your protection.”_

“ _So quick to give up our arrangement after we've shared so many wonderful meals together throughout the years?” the demon mocked, it's body morphing constantly from large to small like the waves of an ocean. “A pity!”_

_The demon reared back and lifted it's arms. Solona gripped the staff tighter and immediately began to channel her tightly coiled mana into the shaft. It's rune work glowed softly as it accepted her magic and she called forth her ice magic in an attempt to cool the fire of the demon's body. Mouse slipped easily into his bear form and lunged for the creature, clamping his jaws around the arm that had come down in an attempt to slash at him with long claws. The heat did not seem to bother him as he mauled at the creature. Solona thrust the staff forward and a jet of ice burst forth, slamming into the demon. It shrieked as the cold hardened it's flesh into a dark coal like substance. She remembered reading somewhere that frozen of petrified enemies could be shattered to bits if hit before the spell wore off. She gripped the staff and swung the head of it into the demon's chest. It did not shatter, but bits of it flaked off to hit the ground. Her magic was not strong enough to freeze it to its core. She backed up and erected a barrier to protect her from the spurts of flame that the demon was drawing up from the ground below their feet. She then summoned a blizzard in the small area, dealing constant damage to the demon as it attempted to slither in her direction. Her next spell was a wall of ice that she slipped into the staff and then drug the head of the staff around to release the magic in an arc before her, blocking the demon from approaching too closely. They whittled it down, she with her magic and Mouse with his teeth and claws. Finally, the demon wailed in anger and defeat before it melted back into the ground that it had come from. When it didn't return, and Mouse turned back into a person with a grin on his face, she turned her staff to point at him. He ignored the staff in his face and said, “You did it, You actually did it.”_

_She had done it. Then why had she not awoken? She narrowed her eyes and asked, “How many?”_

“ _What?” he asked, his eyes flicking finally to the staff she was brandishing._

“ _How many others before me? The demon seemed to think you had brought me to it as an offering...”_

“ _That was... It was a long time ago. None of them showed the promise you did,” he sputtered. “You defeated a demon! Someday you will be a Master Enchanter with no equal. It gives me hope that I may one day escape from here...” he sighed. “That is if you help me in exchange for the help I gave you.”_

_Solona removed the staff from his face, but she was not fooled. “You know. I don't think that demon was my real test.”_

“ _What?!” Mouse asked, crossing his arms. “Of course it was. Nothing else here could harm someone with your brilliance...” Solona pursed her lips. Mouse was really laying the compliments on thick, attempting to bolster her ego. She knew she was a good mage, but she also knew that she had room to learn. No apprentice was as good as Mouse was trying to say she was. So her test was pride, was it? It figured. With the reaction to his words, Mouse seemed to realize he was caught. He sighed and grinned. “You_ are _a smart one... Simple killing is for warriors. Mages face many other challenges, especially in the Fade.” He lifted his arms and the bright light of transformation spilled into existence. When it disappeared, he was 15 feet tall and twisted into a monstrous shape. His voice boomed as he spoke. “Never trust your eyes in the Fade, and never trust that anyone is offering you help.”_

 

Solona stirred. Someone was shaking her. She groaned and flapped a hand at whoever was disturbing her. “Hey... Wake up,” a familiar voice seeped it's way into her consciousness.

“Jowan?” she grunted her voice raspy and her throat dry. Her skin felt cold and she curled in on herself, shivering. “What do you want?”

A short derisive chuckle bounced around in her head. “What do I want, she asks... The templars came in here last night and dragged you off to Maker knows where, then deposited you hours later in your bed where you've been sleeping like the dead for even more hours. What happened?”

She peeled her eyes open, the bright light of the mana powered crystals along the walls hurting her head. She sat up, calming a dizzy spell. “It wasn't a dream, then?” she sighed, the heels of her palms digging fiercely into her eye sockets.

“What happened?” Jowan repeated, anxiously. “Did they... Did they hurt you?”

She snorted, her headache beginning to fade as the last vestiges of the Lyrium high wore off. “No. I took my Harrowing.”

“You... Your Harrowing? But I've been here longer than you... What was it like?” he asked in awe, sitting down beside her on the bunk.

She glanced over at his curious expression. His dark blue eyes sparkled and a strange feeling of unease settled over her. She and Jowan had grown up together, like brother and sister, they had been inseperable, but something now was warning her away from revealing anything about the Harrowing to him. “It was... Harrowing...” she smirked, patting his leg. “You'll see soon enough.”

“You are such a tease, Solona.” His face twisted into disappointment and then into sadness. “Sometimes I think they don't want to give me my Harrowing.”

She frowned. “Why would you think that?” she asked in curiosity.

“It's just a feeling,” he sighed. “Anyway, the templars asked me to tell you when you awoke that First Enchanter Irving is waiting to speak with you in his office whenever you're ready.”

With one last forced smile, she patted his leg again and said, “Thank you, Jowan.”

She stood on slightly wobbly legs that got stronger with each step. She left the apprentice's quarters, still dressed in her blue robes. She assumed that since she wasn't dead that she had passed her Harrowing. She followed the rounded hallway that circled the entire lower level of the tower. She passed by the rest of the dormitories reserved for apprentices and through the large sitting room that housed the door to the basement and the repository. Through there she stepped into the massive library. Even at this early hour, apprentices and their mentors were practicing spells amidst the thousands of books that reached two stories high on hundreds of shelves. Solona had always loved the library. It was her only real link to the outside world. The books she read for fun transported her to far off lands that as a mage she could only dream of visiting. At the far end of the library, she reached the catalog section and then the stairs up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, was the stockroom where the creepy tranquil spent most of their time. Lording over it all was Owain, the tranquil in charge of the rest. She passed by his scrutiny, tucking her hair behind her ears and trying to ignore his gaze on her. A few hours ago, that could have been her had she chosen to not undergo the Harrowing. From what she understood, Owain had indeed chosen to be put to the brand instead of taking his Harrowing. She could not understand actually choosing to have the magic burned from your body along with the ability to dream and feel. It was monstrous, though she knew that there were some apprentices that saw their magic not as a gift, but as a curse. She shuddered and hurried out the door and into the hallway that similarly circled the stockroom much like the hall on the first floor. The much smaller library on this floor was where they kept the books that weren't meant to be viewed by apprentices unless they were under supervision from their mentors or a senior enchanter. She passed by with curiosity, only having been allowed in there herself a handful of times. Vowing to return later, she continued on. She spotted Cullen standing dutifully outside the guest quarters where visitors to the circle were always given a bed and some privacy for their stay.

She slowed her pace and smiled at him, wishing she had taken a better look at herself before venturing out. Most templars would not give you the time of day as you went about your business, but Cullen was always friendly. He returned her smile and she paused to speak with him. “Oh, um, h-hello. I... uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly,” he sputtered nervously, glancing around to be certain no one was watching them speak.

“Hello, Cullen,” she said, her voice lowering to tease him with her tone.

He flushed, and his hand found the back of his neck. It was an adorable nervous tick that she memorized for later. “Th-they picked me as the templar to strike the killing blow if... if you became an abomination,” he admitted sheepishly. “I-it's nothing personal, I swear! I...uh, I'm just glad you're all right. You know.”

“Would you really have struck me down?” she asked, taking another step towards him.

He fidgeted. “I would've felt terrible about it...” he said with a sigh. “But... but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I'm commanded.”

She cocked her head. “Perhaps we should go elsewhere and... continue this discussion?” she asked, her eyes flicking from his face and downwards then back up to meet his amber eyes.

“Elsewhere? What do you mean?” he asked, the redness in his cheeks darkening as he worked out what she was suggesting.

She smirked and moved closer to him. “I've seen the way you look at me...” she purred.

“Oh, my goodness,” he blanched, realizing how close she had gotten to him. He took her arms in his hands and moved her away. “If you're saying... what I think... that would be really... inappropriate and... I couldn't... I- I should go.” He stammered through his response, embarrassed chuckles and even more reddening of his cheeks accompanying the words. When he finished, he slunk by her and nearly ran to escape her.

She smiled after him. Teasing the Chantry out of that one would make for some very interesting free time. For now, she had a mission. Get to the First Enchanter. Irving's office was on that floor past the laboratories and the Chapel. She hurried along down the hallway and saw the door was open. When she stepped into the office, she realized why Cullen had been posted outside the guest quarters. There was a man standing between the First Enchanter and Knight Commander Greagoir. His hands were clasped behind his back and he watched with deep, soulful dark brown eyes as the two argued. His black hair was pulled back in a tail at the back of his head, his skin so deeply tanned it was almost brown. He wore strange armor that she did not recognize but the two daggers at his back marked him as a rogue. He sported a short beard that barely hung an inch from his chin. His eyes flicked up to her as she entered and he held up his hand to interrupt the bickering between Greagoir and Irving. “Gentlemen, please...” His voice was a deep as his gaze, with barely an accent to give her a clue as to where he was from. His skin marked him as Rivaini or possibly Tevinter, but she could not be certain. “Irving, you have a visitor.”

The First Enchanter turned his gaze on her and a bright smile lit up his weathered features. She tipped her head in thanks to the stranger and said, “I was told you wished to see me, First Enchanter.”

“Yes!” he said in excitement. “Come child, I wish to congratulate you on passing the Harrowing and welcome you as a full fledged Mage.” He turned and shuffled to a table that stood along the right hand wall in front of some book shelves. Leaning against the table was a staff and folded neatly atop the surface was a yellow set of robes fashioned similarly to the ones she wore. A small ring that hummed with magic was nestled atop the robes.

“This is...?” the stranger asked with curiosity, his eyes studying her with interest.

“Yes, this is she...” Irving said as he lifted the robes and balanced them in one hand so he could pick up the staff as well. Greagoir huffed at being suddenly ignored and left with a curt warning that he and Irving would continue their 'discussion' later. “Irving glared at him as he left, his armor clanking loudly. When his gaze returned to her, he held out the items for her and she took the ring, slipping it on her right hand and shuddering as it's power caressed over her arm. Then she took the robes and the staff, admiring the craftsmanship of the weapon. “Solona, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens.” Irving said as introduction.

Her eyes immediately left the staff to land back on the stranger. He was now even more of a curiosity. What was a Grey Warden doing at the Circle, and why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about some Senior enchanters that had left the tower? “It's a pleasure,” she smiled, shuffling the items in her arms to her left and holding out her hand.

Duncan took her hand and shook it firmly with his before returning to his stance, hands behind his back, legs apart. Irving began to explain about the war brewing in the South. “Duncan is here to recruit mages for the King's army at Ostagar.”

Solona immediately forgot her place, “If they need more mages to fight, I volunteer.”

Irving chuckled, his tone making her think he was only falling a centimeter short of patting her on the head, although Duncan's expression seemed to convey that he had expected her to respond as she did. “With the Darkspawn invading, we will absolutely need all of the help we can get.”

Irving stopped laughing and cleared his throat. “Darkspawn?” she asked with curiosity. She had only ever read about the creatures that came to the surface every few centuries to unleash a blight upon the land. No wonder a Grey Warden was here.

Duncan nodded in agreement. “They have formed a horde in the Korcari Wilds, threatening to move Northward. We are hoping to stop them at Ostagar before they can spread.”

Irving held his hands up. “Duncan, you are talking of blights and Darkspawn when this should be a happy day for the girl.” He turned his attention to her and smiled. “You passed the Harrowing and your Phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi.”

“Thank you, first Enchanter,” she sighed, pursing her lips in disappointment that her request to join the army had been brushed aside.

Irving informed her that the day was hers to do with as she wished and she thanked him again. Duncan told Irving that he would return to his quarters and Irving asked Solona to escort Duncan as a favor. She gladly agreed, hoping to pick the man's brain. Duncan was stoic, but he answered her questions as she walked him slowly back to the guest quarters. He was light on information from the outside world, his mind focused on mostly the Darkspawn and the Blight he feared was coming. She again expressed an interest in going with him and he cracked a smile. The first she'd seen on his serious face. “We shall see what Greagoir and Irving agree on. I certainly will not turn down such eager help.”

Solona left Duncan in excitement, hoping to possibly head to the baths and wash away the Fade that she could still feel was clinging to her skin, even though she knew that was not the case. Only her mind had entered the Fade. Not her physical body. She hurried down to the apprentice dorms where she knew most of the occupants were probably in class by now. The baths called to her and she quickly heated the water with a touch of her palm after dumping one of the buckets full of water into the shallow tub. She stripped her apprentice robes and flung them over the screen that hid the tub from view and lowered herself thankfully into the warm water. She had the day off, she was not going to waste it taking a bath. She scrubbed down in a hurry and then dried off and donned her new yellow robes. She couldn't say much for the color, but they were certainly comfortable. She pulled her hair into a lazy tail and attached her new staff to the harness that had come wrapped in her robes. With the surprisingly comforting weight on her back, she tossed her old robes in the laundry and left the dorm. She was halfway down the hall when Jowan's voice stopped her. “There you are. I've been looking all over for you,” he said in a whisper.

She frowned and glanced around at the few other mages and templars wandering about. “Why are you whispering?” she hissed. “It looks suspicious.”

He grunted and took her elbow to lead her toward the library. “Come on, just follow me. There's something I want to discuss with you if you're finished with Irving.”

There went her relaxing day off. She sighed and followed Jowan through the tower to the Chapel. It was eerily quiet, save for a lone apprentice praying softly in one corner and a Chantry initiate on the opposite side of the room. Candles burned softly all around the only room in the tower not lit by the mage crystals. Jowan quickly approached the initiate who smiled widely at them both. Solona paused before them as Jowan turned to stand side by side with the woman. “We should be safe here,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper.

“Safe from what?” Solona asked, her hips cocking as she crossed her arms. “You're starting to worry me, Jowan.”

He sighed. “Do you remember a few months ago when I told you I'd met a girl?” Solona nodded her head and he pushed ahead. “This is Lily.”

Solona took note of the Chantry Initiate. She was a slip of a girl. Solona had seen her around the Chapel, but had never paid her much notice. She had her dark brown hair done up in a half tail that flowed from a twisted braid that was styled to look like a flower. It was a bit much for Solona's taste, but she figured if she were stuck wearing the salmon colored Chantry robes that she might feel the need to do something more with her hair to draw attention away from the ugly. Solona harrumphed. “I was beginning to think you'd made her up,” she said with a smirk.

Jowan looked less than pleased with her humor. “You know it is forbidden for an apprentice and and initiate...” he sighed. “Lily is promised to the Chantry. She isn't allowed to... fraternize with men.”

Jowan's cause for concern was beginning to make sense. Solona rolled her eyes. “Okay, I won't tell anyone, but I'm still not sure why you're telling me this.”

Lily finally spoke up, her voice was soft and sweet, like a melody. “I recently discovered a plot against Jowan...”

“There are rumors floating around that I am... a blood mage,” he admitted, his eyes flicking away from hers to glance sadly at Lily. Solona snorted at the silly notion. She had known Jowan her entire life. He had been the first friend she'd made in the tower. He didn't have it in him to be a blood mage. “Of course the rumors aren't true, but it hasn't stopped Irving from signing over my life to the templars. They don't want me to take my Harrowing. Irving has agreed to the Rite of Tranquility.”

Solona's arms dropped to the side and her mouth fell open. “How do you?... Are you certain?”

“I saw the documents on Irving's desk with my own eyes,” Lily said gently.

“They'll take everything from me, Sol. My hopes, my dreams, my love for Lily... all gone,” Jowan nearly wailed.

Solona glanced around, to be certain they were still alone. “I am assuming that if you wanted to tell me that you have some kind of plan to get out of this?”

Jowan and Lily exchanged a glance and Lily spoke up. “We need to get into the phylactery chamber and destroy Jowan's phylactery so he cannot be tracked. Then we will escape under cover of night.”

“Impossible. How do you plan on getting in there?” Solona asked.

“The door inside needs two keys to be opened. Both Irving and Greagoir each hold a key. We will never get both keys, but there are other ways to open a lock,” Lily said.

Who in Andraste's name was this girl? Solona regarded her as Jowan spoke up. “I saw a Rod of Fire melt through a lock once. Perhaps if we can get our hands on one, we could do the same.”

“I could check the stockroom,” Solona suggested, none too thrilled with having to speak with Owain.

Lily was all too eager to fall in with the plan. “We should probably wait here. One mage will attract much less attention than the three of us together.”

Solona glanced at Jowan whose expression begged her to help him. “I'll be back as soon as I can,” she agreed.

Getting the Rod of Fire proved a bit more difficult than she had anticipated. Owain requested she get a form authorizing the release of the rod to her signed by a senior enchanter. She knew that several of the Senior enchanters had already left for Ostagar. She roamed the hallways, on the look out for the red robes of a senior enchanter. Beside the chapel in the laboratory, she noticed an elven woman standing outside the storage rooms where they kept herbs and other alchemical ingredients. She was glancing around nervously, her lip between her teeth. Solona approached her and she jumped when asked about why she looked so shifty. She tried several different excuses before Solona crossed her arms and cocked her head. With a sigh, she revealed that there was an infestation of giant spiders in the storage room and she was at a loss on how to get rid if them. Solona bargained to get rid of the spiders if she would sign the form for her.

The woman let Solona into the room and shut the doors behind her. Solona drew her brand new staff and decided to put it to the test. She twirled it awkwardly, getting a feel for how to physically charge her staff outside the Fade. She nearly dropped it a few times before her fingers remembered how to twist around the wood while tracing glyphs and spindling mana into the staff. It was a lot of multitasking. She cautiously made her way toward the moldy smelling bowels of the cave like storage tunnels. It was lit with mage lights and the bright shine showed her where there was evidence of arachnid activity. From the size of the web cocoons, the spiders were indeed giant as Leorah had indicated. Solona kept her ears peeled for any hissing or skittering. The first one attacked her from above, dropping from the ceiling on inch thick webbing. It came, gnashing at her with teeth and pincers as big as her hands. She panicked, shrieking as it scurried toward her on eight ridiculous legs. Disregarding the use of her staff, she channeled her magic directly to her palms, throwing fire before her to light the furry thing up. When it hissed and gurgled, burning alive in it's own skin, the smell of charring flesh gagged her. She scolded herself once she'd recovered, She needed to get used to her staff. If she was to go with Duncan, she needed to be worthy of the King's army, not some bumbling fool who panicked at the sight of a giant spider. From what she understood, Darkspawn were even more monstrous. She took as deep a breath as she dared around the spider that had rolled onto it's back, it's legs curling around it's body and drew in her focus. While she walked forward, she practiced charging her staff on the move. It was somehow less trying to do as she walked versus standing still. Perhaps it was because her body was concentrating more on keeping her going than what her hands were doing. The runes etched into the shaft began to glow with power and she smiled in triumph. If practice made perfect, she would need to do a lot of practicing.

She killed her way through the circular tunnel, destroying all of the living spiders as well as their cocoons. When she emerged from the storage rooms no worse for the wear, Leorah was so thankful that she immediately signed the request form. Solona hurried it back to Owain who greeted her again in the same monotone greeting that he had used previously. “Do you use that greeting on everyone?” she asked, teasingly, forgetting who she was talking to.

“Do you find it displeasing? I am not inclined to change it,” he said handing her the well earned Rod of Fire.

“Nevermind,” she sighed and left him staring after her with those dead eyes. No way she was letting that happen to Jowan if she could help it. When she returned to Jowan and Lily, they were waiting nervously. “I've got it. Not that it was easy.”

“Let's head down to the basement. There isn't likely to be anyone around there at this time of day,” Lily said.

They moved as a group, Solona trying to look as inconspicuous as she could. It was likely a good thing that she had embarrassed Cullen so thoroughly earlier. She was not likely to see him following her about for a few days at least. They slipped down the basement stairs and came to the first door in their path. “I'm so nervous things will go wrong,” Jowan mumbled as soon as the darkness of the dimply lit stairwell closed around them.

Lily turned and smiled at him before indicating the door. “The Chantry calls this the Victim's Door. It's made with two hundred and seventy-seven planks of wood to symbolize the original number of templars...”

“That's all well and good,” Solona said cutting her off. “but a history lesson won't get us through it. It's a magical door. I can feel the charge in the air. The Rod of Fire won't work here.”

Lily nodded. “Yes. This door requires a password which is held by the Chantry and then it needs to feel the touch of mana from a mage that has undergone their Harrowing.”

“That would be me,” Solona said. “I assume you have the password.”

Lily turned to face the door and held up her palm as if she were blessing the door. “Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade.” Solona heard an audible click. “The door is primed. Now you must use your magic on it. Any spell will do.”

Solona called frost to her fingertips, not bothering with her staff to just unlock a door. When the spell hit the door, it flowed open on it's own. They moved through the door into another dark hallway. A second door stood before them. “This is the Phylactery Chamber, isn't it?” Solona asked.

“Yes, hurry. Use the Rod on the locks!” Jowan urged.

Solona pulled the Rod from her robes and aimed it at the door. Nothing happened. She frowned and attempted to draw on her mana and again nothing happened. “I can't cast here...” she glanced again at the door and groaned when she realized that there was a reason that Irving and Greagoir had two regular keys for the door. “The runes. They are blocking magic around the door.”

“Of course!” Lily cried in dismay. “How do you keep a mage from entering a door? Make his spells completely useless.”

Solona tapped the door with the Rod, fighting the urge to give it a swift kick. “We can't give up.” She glanced around and further down the hall was the door that led to the repository where the most dangerous magical artifacts were housed. “Maybe there is a way in through the repository.”

“We have to try. Let's hope that door isn't warded as well,” Jowan said, immediately heading for the other entry. Solona followed on his heels with the Rod, ready to melt the locks. She felt her mana surging back into play as they moved out of the influence of the runes on the chamber door. She sighed, not realizing how uncomfortable that had been. She held the Rod up to the lock and this time when she channeled her magic, the Rod spat red hot flames from it's tip. She shielded her eyes as sparks flew from the melting metal of the lock. When she pulled the Rod away from the door, the metal dripped down over the wooden door and the door cracked slightly ajar. “Oh, that's not good.”

She turned at Jowan's words and slipped the surprisingly cool Rod back in her robes. “Oh Maker,” Lily gasped as the nearby sentinel suits of armor came to life, brandishing weapons at them.

“Get back!” Solona cried, pushing Lily back toward the wall and reaching for her staff. Wielding the weapon was becoming second nature. Her runes glowed brightly as she channeled her magic through the staff to throw at the magically animated suits. She was able to dispel two that were close together, breaking the magic that animated them, but the third was out of her range. She stepped forward and spun the staff, flicking a fireball from her hand into the shaft and then jutting the staff head first toward the sentinel. It erupted in flame but continued to advance. Jowan added a few spells of his own, but compared to her charged staff, his palms were simply not powerful enough to do much damage. Between the two of them, they managed to take down the thing and it crashed noisily to the ground in a dozen pieces. “Let's hope no one heard that. Is everyone all right?” Solona asked, glancing at her co-conspirators.

Jowan nodded, checking on Lily. “We're fine. Let's go.”

They made their way through the dozens of rooms that made up the repository. Several more sentinels attacked them as they went, Solona wishing she had some Lyrium potions to replenish her mana. Even with help from her staff, her reserves only went so deep. Finally they reached a room that was filled with a large amount of oddities and curiosities. Solona couldn't help but to poke around. She approached a Tevinter statue that stood in a corner, collecting dust. She reached up and brushed a layer of dust from the top of it and nearly had a heart attack when the thing spoke to her. “Greetings.” The voice was throaty and dual toned, reminding Solona of how spirits in the Fade sounded when they spoke. She moved closer to it again and cocked her head to study it.

“Maker's Breath, did it just say something?” Jowan squeaked, stepping up beside her.

As she nodded, the statue spoke again. “I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zenovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my Lord's house.”

“Archon Valerius?” Solona asked, crossing her arms. She had never heard the name before.

“I'm not sure,” Jowan said, his curiosity as piqued as hers. “The Archons were the Lords of the Imperium.”

“ 'Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress', he said. 'And tell your lies to all who pass...' But my Lord found death at the hands of his enemies and his once-proud fortress crumbled to dust. as I foretold,” the statue said sadly.

“Don't listen to it. The Tevinter Lords dabbled in many forbidden arts,” Lily said with fear. “This is a Wicked thing!”

“I wonder how it got here,” Solona said softly, rolling her eyes at Lily's naivete.

“It must have been here for years,” Jowan mused. “Judging by the dust. I almost feel sorry for it... her.”

“Weep not for me, child,” the statue sighed. “Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again.”

Solona frowned. “What does that mean?”

Jowan scoffed. “Ambiguous rubbish. It could mean anything. I can do it, too. _The sun grows dark, but lo! Here comes the dawn!_ ” he said in a mocking tone.

“Stop talking to it. Please, both of you,” Lily begged.

“We really can't do much with it anyhow,” Solona sighed. She tipped her head to the statue and it simply went silent, content to ignore and be ignored. She began to hunt about for another exit from the room that might help them get into the Phyactery chamber. If her mental map was correct the chamber should be right next to them at the other side of the room. She noticed a cool draft that was slipping through the wall. “Over here. Jowan, help me shift this book case.”

Together, she and Jowan moved the heavy shelves and behind it was a wall ready to crumble. She could feel the cool magic of the chamber seeping in from the other side. She stepped back from the wall and ushered Jowan and Lily out of the way. Using her staff to focus the energy, she jabbed a stone fist spell at the wall, bringing down the already crumbling wall. When the dust settled, they were in side the chamber they had set out to get into. It was guarded by three more sentinels and Solona and Jowan dispatched them before allowing Lily to pick her way thorough the rubble and enter the cold room. Ice magic was in use all over the room, working to keep the phylacteries cool and unspoilt. “I can't believe we're here,” Jowan gasped.

Solona sighed belatedly. “It's a shame my Phylactery was taken to Denerim after my Harrowing.”

“Would you have destroyed yours too?” Jowan asked, his eyes widening.

She had never thought such a thing was possible until they stood here. “It's too late to worry about 'what ifs'. Let's just find yours, Jowan, and get the hell out of here.”

They climbed up into the coldest area of the room where piles of snow were kept magically all around the small bottles labeled with each apprentice's name. It was easy to find Jowan's and he stared at it in awe. “It's so tiny. Hard to believe that such a small thing has kept me chained for so many years.” He held the glass vial out in front of him and dropped it. The glass shattered, spilling his blood and allowing it to soak into the white snow. “Let's go,” he sighed.

They left through the original door they had meant to get in through, the runes not a problem from that side. In a matter of moments, they were climbing the stairs out of the basement. Solona was trying to figure out the best way to get Jowan out of the tower itself now that his Phyactery was destroyed when at the top of the stairs, they were met by half a dozen templars and the First Enchanter. “Well, shit,” she mumbled, stopping short and her fingers twitching. She yearned to draw her staff, but that would label her a Maleficar and she would either be killed or put to the brand. She decided to let the scene play out and hope for the best. She noticed Duncan standing to the far back of the room, leaning in the doorway that led to the library.

“So what you said was true, Irving,” Greagoir said with a sneer. “An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I'm disappointed, Lily.” He approached Lily and studied her. “She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then.” He sighed and turned back to the First Enchanter. “You were right, Irving. The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished. And this one,” his eyes then fell on Solona. “Newly a mage and already flouting the Circle's rules.”

Irving sighed audibly and lifted a scolding finger at her. “I'm disappointed in you. You could have told me what you knew of this plan, and you didn't.”

Jowan stepped ahead of her and growled angrily. “You don't care for the mages. You just bow to the Chantry's every whim!”

Solona reached out and touched his shoulder, trying to pull him back. “Jowan, please don't make it worse.”

“Enough!” Greagoir growled, slashing his hand downwards in finality. “As Knight-Commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate had scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

“The mage's prison?!” Lily gasped as the templars began to approach them. “No, please, no. Not there!”

“NO! I won't let you touch her!” Jowan shouted, a knife appearing in his hand. He stabbed down into his own palm. Solona backed up in horror as his blood and mana swirled around each other sucking the air from the room as he drew on the power in his own blood. He lifted his arms and then thrust them forward, a spray of blood and energy slamming into the templars and the First Enchanter. They all fell before him and Solona prayed they were simply unconscious and not dead.

“By the Maker!” Lily cried. “Blood magic? H-how could you? You said you never...”

Jowan turned his gaze on Lily and the rage from moments before disappeared as he stepped toward her. “I admit, I... I dabbled! I thought it would make me a better mage...”

“Blood magic is evil, Jowan.” Lily wailed as she backed away from him. “It corrupts people. Changes them...”

“I'm going to give it up! All magic. I just want to be with you, Lily. Please, come with me...” he begged.

“I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you... I.. I don't know who you are, blood mage. Stay away from me...” Lily spat angrily, making Solona flinch. If the blood magic had truly corrupted him, he would have made her a thrall right then and there and stole her away. Instead, a great sadness washed over his features and he turned, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest and ran.

Solona dragged her attention to the men and women lying around her. She ran to Irving first, kneeling beside him. Her knees beneath her robes felt damp as the blood all around seeped into her clothing. “First Enchanter!” she gasped, rolling him from his stomach onto his back.

The movement woke him and he groaned, glancing at her. “Are you all right? Where's Greagoir?”

“I knew it...” Greagoir growled, sitting up and clutching his head. “Blood magic... but to overcome so many... I never thought him capable of such power.”

Solona hung her head before helping the First Enchanter to his feet. “I can't believe he just did that.”

“None of us suspected this. Are you all right, Greagoir?” Irving asked, clutching a small wound in his side.

“As good as can be expected, given the circumstances. If you'd let me act sooner, this would not have happened!” Greagoir scolded. “Now we have a blood mage on the loose with no way to track him down!”

“He can't have gone far,” Solona said timidly, bending under the anger of the Knight-Commander.

“He will be very difficult to locate without his Phylactery,” Irving sighed.

Greagoir ignored them and grunted. “Where is the girl?”

“I... I am here, ser,” Lily said quietly, stepping from behind a pillar near the basement stairs.

“You helped a blood mage!” Greagoir accused, bearing down on her. “Just look at all he's hurt.”

“Lily had no idea Jowan was a blood mage,” Solona spoke up.

The girl hung her head and closed her eyes. “You have been a kind friend, but you needn't defend me anymore. Knight-Commander, I... I was wrong. I was accomplice to a... a blood mage. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even... Even Aeonar,” Lily said boldly.

“Get her out of my sight,” Greagoir growled to the couple of templars that had made it to their feet. “and you...” he turned his ire on Solona. “You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts some magics are locked away for a reason!”

“Did you take anything important from the repository?” Irving asked her calmly.

She shook her head wildly. She knew better. “No.”

“Very well, I believe you,” Irving sighed.

“But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle!” Greagoir looked her over and growled in frustration. “Ah, what are we to do with you?”

Solona opened her mouth and the only thing that came out was a lame excuse. “I didn't know he was a blood mage.”

“And you think this excuses you?!” Greagoir said in outrage. “You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught! Because of you!”

Solona had no arguments left. She was done for. Greagoir was going to lock her up and throw away the key. Suddenly, Duncan appeared beside her and spoke calmly. “Knight-Commander, if I may. I am not only looking for mages to join the King's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens... Irving spoke highly of this mage and I would like her to join the Warden ranks.”

Before Greagoir could protest, Irving did so for him. “Duncan, this mage has assisted a Maleficar and shows a lack of regard for the Circle's rules.”

“She is a danger. To all of us!” Greagoir added.

Duncan scoffed. “It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need. I stand by my decision. I will recruit this mage.”

“No!” Greagoir seethed. “I refuse to let this go unpunished!”

Solona found herself shrinking back away from Greagoir and closer to Duncan as they argued over her like a piece of meat. “If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly go,” she offered timidly. This was her chance to not only escape imprisonment, but to see the world.

“Greagoir, mages are needed. _This_ mage is needed,” Duncan said pointedly. “Worse things plague this world than blood mages. You know that... I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.”

“A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden!?” Greagoir was furious. “Are our laws nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well, Irving.”

“Enough,” the First Enchanter sighed. “We have no more say in this matter.”

“So, I am to be a Grey Warden?” Solona asked, barely checking the excitement in her voice.

“Yes.” Irving smiled slightly. “Be proud, child. You are luckier than you know.”

She returned his smile and Duncan held out a hand for her to come with him. “Come. Your new life awaits.”

 

It took them actually leaving the tower and getting all of the way across the lake and an hours' trek south through the woods before Solona could believe that she was actually free. Her hands were still trembling as Duncan stopped them for the evening to set up camp. He pulled from his pack, two bedrolls and a small bag of jerky, offering her some of the jerky. It took her stomach rumbling for her to realize that she had not eaten since supper the night before. She accepted the offered food with a smile and sat down on the bedroll that he had laid out for her. He silently gathered some firewood and began to build it up inside a ring of stones. When he pulled out his flint, she chuckled and held up a hand. “No need.” He backed away from the pile of wood and she wiggled her fingers, releasing a small amount of mana to spark the fire.

“I'd forgotten how useful it was to travel with a mage,” the normally stoic man said with a chuckle, sitting down on his own bedroll. He studied Solona as she nibbled on her jerky. She had been allowed to pack a bag before leaving, but she had few things of value that were truly hers. “Did you wish to change out of those robes?” Duncan asked, indicating the blood stains on the front of her skirts.

She glanced down at the stains, but looked away quickly. “I don't have anything to change into,” she sighed.

He reached over and drug his own pack closer. “You may not have taken the joining yet, but I believe I can allow you to wear the armor of the Grey Wardens, even so.” He pulled out a pair of light leather pants lined with a thin fur for warmth and a blue and silver hauberk striped vertically and crafted with both metal and leather for a lighter, easier to move in style designed with mages in mind. The shoulders had an additional layer of protection in the form of blue quilted and studded pauldrons. Brown gloves and simple brown boots completed the ensemble. “I do hope they fit.”

She accepted the armor with care, cradling the pile to her chest. “Thank you,” she said, reveling in the fine make of the clothes. She moved into the woods to find a tree to change behind out of the light of the fire. She slipped out of her robes that she had worn for no more than 12 hours at best and quickly found her way in to the complex Warden armor. Hoping she had everything in the proper place, she secured a few buckles and pulled on the boots. Amazingly, they fit her perfectly. The armor was lighter even than it looked, the front of the hauberk reaching just above her knees in a single piece and the back to the tops of her calves in a piece that split in two below her rear. After all of the years that she had been wearing robes, she wondered how these clothes could feel so comfortable. She debated setting the bloody robes on fire, but chose instead to gingerly pick them up and crumple them into a ball to stuff in her pack to deal with later. She made her way back to the fire and sat down on her bedroll again. Duncan offered her a smile and she said. “Thank you again. Everything fits like a glove.”

Duncan shrugged and grinned deviously. “I had a feeling I would be leaving the Circle with a new recruit. Irving and I had been exchanging ravens for some weeks now. It was no coincidence that your Harrowing took place last night. I did not, however, realize we would be leaving with quite the bang that we did.”

She dragged her newly gloved fingers through the dirt in front of her. “Neither did I,” she agreed. “How did I not see that coming? Jowan has been a good friend to me for so many years.”

Duncan clucked his tongue. “Sometimes our friends are the ones who can deceive us better than others. It takes an extremely uncaring person to not accept their friends' word at face value. It speaks to your character that Jowan was able to deceive you. It is indeed what sealed my decision to conscript you.”

His words made her feel better about herself and she brushed away the doodles in the dirt that she had drawn, suddenly exhausted. “If you don't mind, I could use some sleep. It has been a very long day.”

“Of course. Enjoy your rest... Lady Amell,” he said, testing the name on his tongue.

“Ugh,” she grunted, her lip curling. “Solona, please.”

He nodded and smiled. “Solona it is. Good night.”

 

 


	2. Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona easily adusts to her new life before chaos erupts.

They were on the road eight days from the tower all of the way to Ostagar. Duncan didn't talk much unless Solona pried it out of him. She asked him questions about different places they passed and tried to build a relationship with the man by prodding him for information about his past and offering stories about her own. He seemed very disinclined to build a lasting bond with her aside from the occasional hearty laugh at one of her jokes or lengthy story about Warden history. She took this as him distancing himself from his recruit and tried not to take anything too personally. Overall, she liked the man in spite of his calm and quiet demeanor and refusal to share Warden secrets even though she was practically a Warden already.

They arrived at Ostagar in the afternoon of their eighth day together and Duncan led her past a large mostly intact tower toward a crumbling bridge over top a giant canyon. Just ahead of the bridge, Duncan sputtered in surprise as a blonde man flanked by several guards and dressed in plate similar to the Templars' greeted them. His golden armor shone as brightly as his smile as he held out a hand. Duncan rushed forward to accept the man's offered hand and Solona approached curiously to observe the exchange. “Ho there, Duncan!”

“King Cailan?” Duncan said in surprise. Solona gasped softly. “I didn't expect...”

“A royal welcome?” the king finished for him, dropping his hand and continuing to grin. “I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun.”

“Not if I could help it, your majesty,” Duncan said, his own grin matching the King's.

“Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all... Glorious! The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit,” his curious blue eyes turned to regard her and she flushed. “I take it this is she?”

Solona was at a loss for words as the King studied her closely. “Allow me to introduce you, Your majesty,” Duncan said.

The King chuckled. “There's no need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together, after all. Ho there, friend. Might I know your name?”

Solona stifled a chortle and the smart alec remark that came to mind. She was addressing a king after all. “I am Solona, your majesty.”

“Pleased to meet you!” the King responded. “The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them. I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?”

“I will do my best,” she mumbled, suddenly very aware that she was newly Harrowed.

“Excellent! We have too few mages here. Another is always welcome,” the King said, not seeming to pick up on her own sudden lack of confidence. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.”

“You're too kind, your majesty,” she said with a smile.

“I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies,” the King sighed.

Duncan tipped his head and said, “Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week.”

“Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

“I didn't realize things were going so well,” Solona spoke up, glancing at Duncan who had been telling her horror stories all week about the upcoming Blight.

“I'm not even sure this is a true Blight!” the King sighed. “There are plenty of Darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an Archdemon.”

“Disappointed, your majesty?” Duncan asked a bit more snidely than she would have been comfortable with when addressing royalty.

The King brushed over Duncan's tone. “I'd hoped for a war like in the tales. A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But I suppose this will have to do. I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!”

Solona crossed her forearms over her chest and bowed as the King turned and clanked away with his men in tow. As soon as he was out of earshot, Duncan addressed the look that Solona had given him. “What the King said is true. They've won several battles against the Darkspawn here.”

“Yet you don't sound very reassured,” she said, falling in beside him as he headed after the King toward the main encampment.

“Despite the victories so far, the Darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know there is an Archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the King to act solely on my feeling.”

“Why not? He seems to regard the Wardens highly,” she pointed out.

“Yet not enough to heed my warnings that we need help from the Wardens of Orlais.” Duncan sighed heavily and stopped her before they crossed the bridge. “We should proceed with the Joining as soon as possible.”

“Is there anything I should do to prepare?” she asked.

“Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him its time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to.” When he was finished with her instructions, he turned and headed across the Bridge himself.

Solona took a moment to gather herself. She walked to the edge of the ruins and leaned over the edge of the courtyard balcony across from the large tower they had seen on the way in. She stared out over the Korcari wilds and inhaled deeply. Even after over a week on the road sometimes she still could not believe that she was free of Kinloch Hold. The air was damp and loamy, with an underlying smell of wet dog. She couldn't bring herself to care. Her hair blew around her face, tickling her nose. She had taken it from it's tail and braided two small sections in the front and then two more that she connected in the back to hold the rest of it in place. Here and there in the forest below, she could spot campfires and torches that were likely the Darkspawn terrorizing the scouting bands that the King had sent out. She shuddered to think that she was likely to face one of them soon. It was both frightening and invigorating. She sighed, pushing away from the low stone wall and brushed her hands together to get the dust from the crumbling ruins off her gloves.

She headed for the bridge that Duncan had disappeared over and made her way toward the camp. It was nestled in what had once been the main courtyard many years ago. Ostagar, now, was mostly a crumbling pile of stone walls and dust. Just inside the main gate on the other side of the bridge, she took a right to go around the large structure blocking her path. Under her feet, partially buried was what looked like stone flooring. Where she was walking had used to be indoors. She immediately spotted the rest of the mages in a small walled off clearing to her right, guarded by templars surrounding the area. She skirted the clearing, not wishing to be mistaken for one of them. She was stopped briefly by a soft spoken elderly mage that she recognized as senior Enchanter Wynne who congratulated her on her Harrowing and then gave a short history lesson about the connection between Darkspawn and the Fade. Solona made a joke about not caring where they came from, that they all needed to die regardless. Wynne chuckled and then allowed her to go, realizing she must be busy.

Solona moved further into the camp, looking for where they kept the food. Before she sought Alistair, she planned to grab a hot meal. It seemed Duncan subsisted on jerky for the most part. “Excuse me.” Her attention was drawn to a small kennel that was built up near one of the larger walls that were still intact. Spiked fence posts had been driven into the ground and a wobbly gate kept several purebred Mabari hounds in place. That explained the wet dog smell. She approached the man who had hailed her and offered a curious smile. “You're a Grey Warden, aren't you? Do you know anything about dogs?”

“Not much,” she said apologetically. “What's the problem?”

“One of the hounds in there lost his master in the last battle. The poor thing swallowed Darkspawn blood. I can't treat him because he won't let anyone near enough to muzzle him.”

The man sounded desperate to be asking for her help. She glanced at the poor mutt who was curled up in a ball and whimpering pathetically. Her heart went out to the beast. She heard that the Darkspawn corruption was a slow and agonizing death. “I could give it a try,” she offered.

“Would you?” the man asked, handing over the muzzle.

He let Solona into the pen and she moved slowly toward the suffering hound. The dog lifted it's head meekly and stared at her with watery eyes. She held up the hand that did not have the muzzle in it and inched ever closer. The dog did not seem to want to hurt her, so she dropped in front of him on one knee. He sniffed at her hand and she spoke gently. “That's a good boy. Do you think I could get this muzzle on you so the kennel master can help you get better?”

The hound cocked it's head, it's one ear pricking as she spoke. Then he huffed lightly and lowered his head again. She reached out and slipped the muzzle around his mouth and secured it behind his head. She gave him a thankful pat and then backed away. The kennel master looked on in awe. “You're the first one he's even let near enough to touch him, let alone accomplish the muzzle.”

“What will happen to him now?” she asked, hugging herself and still staring at the poor dog.

“Now that he's muzzled, I can begin to treat him properly... Say, are you going into the wilds anytime soon?” he asked.

“It's likely,” she answered.

“There is a flower native to these parts that is said to have properties that work to heal the Corruption. It has white petals and a blood red center. I'm stuck here, tending the other dogs or I'd go look myself. Any chance you might be able to find one and bring it back for me? It could really improve his chances.”

Solona nodded immediately. “Of course.” She offered the man a smile.

“Maybe if I can cure him, after the battle we can see about imprinting him on you,” he offered. “He seems to have taken a shine to you already.”

“You think?” she asked, glancing back at the large brown dog.

“Mabari choose their masters more often than the other way round. Bring me the flower and I'll do what I can.”

She left the kennel master to his work and then followed the scent of cook fires. From the Kennels there was an open area edged with two raised inclines that led to two different upper courtyards. She took the ramp leading to the left and found a small collection of tents and a group of soldiers that were listening to a Chantry mother preach. Solona sat on a short stone bench that had been grouped with others as a makeshift pew. She listened quietly to the Mother's voice as a sister passed around bowls of oatmeal. Solona accepted hers gratefully and dug in with a spoon. A man in chainmail that sported Redcliffe's heraldry and a large broadsword strapped to his back sat down beside her. “I see you're a Grey Warden,” the man said with a friendly smile.

“Recruit,”she corrected, returning the smile. “I'm Solona.”

“My name is Ser Jory of Redcliffe. I am also a recruit of Duncan's. I've not seen any women among the Wardens. You're the first,” he pointed out while she continued to eat.

She shrugged. “Maybe it's because I'm a mage.”

Ser Jory choked on his oatmeal and sputtered. “A... a mage?”

Solona frowned and turned her attention to him. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

“No.. no, no. I didn't mean,” he sighed and dropped the subject. “I suppose if you've arrived that means Duncan has returned as well. I should go and see if he needs me for anything.”

Jory made a hasty retreat and Solona rolled her eyes. She finished her meal and abandoned the prayer circle to explore more of the camp. Down by the quartermaster, she ran into another recruit by the name of Daveth who grinned at her and managed to hit on her several times before making his own way back to Duncan. She decided it was time to stop wasting time and find the Warden Alistair that Duncan had mentioned. She hunted the camp for someone wearing blue and silver. Up the second incline and around to an old ritual tower was where she walked up on a warrior who held a sarcastic grin on his face while another older man dressed in mage robes scolded him. The warrior's armor was similar to hers in color, except the armor was thicker and strapped over top his hauberk was a short cuirass that covered his chest with a griffon symbol crafted into the metal itself. His armor also had more protection over his arms and legs, light metal bits strapped over the leather of his shins, knees, elbows and wrists. He seemed able to move easily in the heavier garment as he grinned at the mage and crossed his arms. His smile was easy and his blue eyes sparkled over a light dusting of dark blonde stubble that went with his short blonde hair that stood straight up from his head in the front and laid flat in the back. “Should I have asked her to write a note?” he snarked.

The mage growled “Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

The blonde snorted. “Yes. _I_ was harassing _you_ by delivering a message.”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the mage harrumphed.

“Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you... The grumpy one...”

“Enough,” the mage slashed his hand though the air and sighed. “I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool...” He pushed past the man, completely ignoring her.

She watched him go, feeling guilty on behalf of all mage kind. The blonde chuckled. “You know... The one good thing about a Blight is how it brings people together.”

She turned her gaze on him and offered her own smirk. “I know exactly what you mean.”

His smile widened. “It's like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the Darkspawn something to think about.” He cocked his head and looked her over. “Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?”

She crossed her arms, mirroring his former stance. “As a matter of fact, yes I am.”

“Really?” he asked, no fear in his eyes like she'd seen from Jory, but a curiosity. “You don't look like a mage. Uh... that is... I mean... how interesting.” He paused again and then his grin returned. “Wait, I _do_ know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit from the Circle of Magi. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.”

Solona dropped her defensive posture. The man didn't seem to despise her on sight just for being a mage. “And you must be Alistair.”

“Oooh, Did Duncan mention me? Nothing bad, I hope,” he smirked.

She snorted. “Not at all. I'm Solona.

He shook her hand lightly as if he wasn't certain just how hard he was supposed to squeeze. “Right. That was the name... You know, There've never really been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is,” he mused.

“I can handle myself better than most,” she shrugged, much more confident in her skills after the week on the road practicing with her staff.

“I'm starting to get that impression,” he said with another teasing smirk. “Well if Duncan sent you to find me then I'm guessing he wants us to gather the others and meet him.”

She nodded. “I already found Jory and Daveth.” She rolled her eyes, much happier with how Alistair was treating her versus how the other two had reacted.

“Oh, then that's everyone,” he said. “Shall we?”

He started off towards the main camp and she fell in beside him. “So what was that argument about?”

“With the mage?” He asked glancing at her. When she nodded he sighed. “The Chantry is none too pleased that the King has accepted so many mages into the army. The revered mother decided to have a word with one of them and sent me as her errand boy. It puts me in an awkward position...” he hissed audibly as he admitted the next part. “You see, I was once a templar. I'm sure the revered mother meant it as an insult sending me and the mage picked right up on it.” Solona nodded, not offering her opinion. The man beside her certainly didn't strike her as the religious sort. How had he wound up a templar? “I shouldn't have agreed to deliver the message, but Duncan warned us to all 'cooperate and get along'. Apparently they didn't get the same speech.”

“So, how long have you been a Warden?” she asked curiously.

“Duncan recruited me, uhhh... about six months ago. I'm the 'New Warden', until you and the others face the Joining that is. As such, I get to accompany you while you prepare,” he explained.

“What exactly is the Joining?” she wondered.

He chuckled and wagged a finger at her. “I can't tell you that. It's all very secret.” he put that same finger to his lips and shushed her with a grin.

She rolled her eyes. “I heard the same thing about the Harrowing my entire life,” she groaned.

“Welcome to the Grey Wardens, where everything is a secret,” he said waggling his eyebrows. “So have you ever faced a Darkspawn before?”

She shook her head. “We came straight here from the Circle. I'm still getting used to the fresh air. The road was fairly quiet.”

“It's so strange to think you've spent your whole life locked away...” A brief frown wrinkled his brow. “When I faced my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was,” he said in way of warning.

They strolled up to a small section of camp with a blazing fire and a few tents built up around it. Jory and Daveth hovered near the edge of the fire across from Duncan. “Ah, you're here,” Duncan said. “We can begin. That is, of course, if you're finished riling up mages, Alistair.”

Alistair looked cowed as he stepped up to stand beside Duncan while she moved to stand with the other recruits. “What can I say? The revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.”

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she?” Duncan scolded. “We can't afford to antagonize anyone here, Alistair.”

“Yes, I know,” Alistair sighed, pouting. “I'm sorry, Duncan.”

Duncan nodded and then returned his attention to her and the others. “Since you're all here, we can begin. Alistair will be escorting you three into the Korcari Wilds, where you will have two tasks to complete. The first, retrieve 3 vials of Darkspawn blood. One for each of you.”

Solona grinned, more than ready to finally test her skills against Darkspawn. “Finally, some action,” she mumbled.

Duncan chuckled and she noticed Alistair watching her with a curious frown. “Yes, I'm certain the Darkspawn will not be too keen on handing over their blood.” Jory and Daveth were looking at her like she had a pox and she crossed her arms in indignation. “The second task is this. I have provided Alistair with a map to an ancient Grey Warden archive in the Wilds. It was abandoned long ago, but we have recently discovered that there are scrolls in a sealed chest that I need you to retrieve. They are treaties that guarantee aid to the Grey Wardens in times of Blight. I have a feeling we will be needing them soon.”

“You said it is ancient? What if they're no longer there?” Solona asked hesitantly. Magic did not last forever.

“Why were they left there in the first place?” Alistair added with a frown.

“It was assumed when the archive was abandoned that we would one day return. Many things have been assumed that were not, in the long run, true,” Duncan said with a sigh. Solona nodded her understanding and glanced at the other two recruits. They both looked ready to piss in their armor. She wasn't certain whether they were more afraid of heading into the wilds, or of doing it with her in tow. She sighed as Duncan looked at Alistair. “Protect your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely.”

“We will,” Alistair agreed, locking his hands behind his back and straightening his spine.

“Then may the Maker watch over your paths,” Duncan said dismissively.

 

The gates to the Ostager camp had been closed quickly behind them by a very nervous gate guard. Solona trudged forward, taking her staff from her back to keep her balance on the muddy terrain. It had rained recently and the warmth of the soil was mixing with the chill in the air and creating a thick fog that made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Alistair walked casually by her side. It still struck her as odd that this man had once been a templar. He was less worried about her being a mage than the other two men who kept a generous distance from her. Daveth was actively trying to see everything around him in a complete circle all at once, his head swiveling almost comically as his eyes bugged out from his sockets. He was fiddling with two daggers in his hands, even before they encountered any danger. Jory's hand kept jumping to his sword hilt with every snap of a twig in the distance.

“D'you hear that?” Alistair asked softly, his arm reaching out to stop her.

She paused and attempted to block out the panicked breathing of their other two party members. The muggy breeze carried the sound of padded footfalls loping toward them. “Wolves?” Solona asked, hearing a howl off in the distance. It was difficult to tell just how far they were, with the fog muffling a lot of the sounds coming at them.

Solona gripped her staff and Alistair drew his sword and shield and they ended up back to back. “The scent of blood from all of the recent battles must have made them bold,” Alistair said, still whispering.

Jory had drawn his greatsword, both hands gripping the hilt. A sense of calm had fallen over him. He was a seasoned warrior in spite of evidence to the contrary so far. He moved to join the half circle that Solona and Alistair had formed, leaving only Daveth by himself, his daggers gripped tightly in his fists and facing towards his own body. Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet. She watched Daveth slip into the shadows, using the fog to his advantage. Seconds later, there was a yelp of pain followed by silence. “They're right on top of us,” Daveth announced, setting Solona's heart racing.

A pack of wolves appeared out of nowhere. The first that she saw dove at her, attempting to knock her off balance. Alistair's shield was between them before she could even react, knocking the wolf backwards. She shot him a thankful glance and then began to draw her magic forth. She beat back a lot of the wolves trying to nip at her feet by simply swinging her staff around her. The others gave her a wide berth, realizing that a staff wielding mage needed enough space to gain inertia and charge her spells. The spells came so easily with the staff. She was using maybe only a quarter of the mana that she had needed before to channel through her palms, and she was far more accurate in hitting her target as well. When they had taken out the last of the attacking wolves, Solona caught a glimpse of another wolf, nearly black in color that slunk away, not attacking as the rest had. Smart wolf.

A few yards away. They discovered the reason for the wolves' frenzy. A cart had been overturned and it's contents strewn all over, including the people who had been driving it and the Oxen that had been pulling it. The smell of rot turned her stomach as they approached the piles of burning wood and corpses. “This was Darkspawn,” Alistair concluded, glancing around.

“And it wasn't just the caravan that was attacked,” Solona pointed out. “Look, soldiers.”

All four of them spun as a sudden gasp and groan sounded to their right. Solona stifled the fireball that had erupted in her palm when she realized that one of the soldiers that she had thought dead was reaching out toward them. “Well he's not half as dead as he looks,” Alistair quipped, kneeling by the man.

“Who's that? Grey Wardens?” the man choked, holding his side where a long slash had opened his flesh.

“We should patch him up,” Solona said, wishing that she had been one of those mages who had mastered the healing arts. It was the one school of Magic that had eluded her grasp. She was lucky to be able to summon a whisp to follow her about and provide extra mana. It was something she rarely expended the effort for.

“I have bandages in my pack,” Alistair said, reaching behind him into the small pouch that rested in the middle of his lower back.

While he slapped some temporary salve on the man's injury and covered it with a bandage, the man spoke. “My scouting party was attacked by Darkspawn. They came... out of the ground... I need to get back to camp.”

“We shouldn't back track,” Jory mumbled.

Alistair finished his ministrations and helped the man to his feet. “Can you make it back?”

After pulling himself a bit straighter, the man nodded. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

As the man wandered off back toward camp, Jory frowned and confronted Alistair. “Did you hear that? An entire seasoned scouting band wiped out by those things! We should not be out here. I am no coward, but this is foolish and reckless.”

Alistair calmly held up his hand and before he could speak, Solona crossed her own arms. “You forget, I have magic. We're safe.”

Jory rounded about to squint at her. “That does not reassure me.”

“Listen, Ser Jory,” Alistair added. “All Grey Wardens can sense Darkspawn. Now there are some about, but I promise we are in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde. It's why I am here.”

“You see, Ser Knight! You might die, but you'll be warned about it first,” Daveth said with his own nervous chuckle.

“Can we just get this over with?” Solona asked, her patience wearing thin. Why had they agreed to become Grey Wardens if they weren't willing to do what needed to be done to fight Darkspawn?

Jory had a few more arguments for Alistair and she wandered away from the bickering, her arms crossed. She glanced around the forest, listening to the strange quiet that seemed to have fallen over it. Were the woods usually this silent? She kept her wits about her, scanning the environment for anything out of the ordinary. The only thing she noticed was a Raven that landed in a nearby tree and cawed softly before it's curious eyes landed on her. She cocked her head and it mimicked her. She jerked when a hand landed on her upper arm. She spun and saw Alistair grinning sheepishly and holding his hands up. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, catching her breath from the start he'd given her. “Yes.” She glanced back to where the Raven had been, but the bird had disappeared. She shrugged off the feeling of being watched that settled over her and followed after Alistair. Along the side of the path, she paused momentarily when she spotted a patch of white among the endless brown and green. She jogged to the log where out of the moss on top, one of the white flowers with a blood red center was growing. She carefully plucked the flower by it's roots and stored it in one of the herb pouches on her belt.

When she caught back up to the others, Alistair had stopped them again. “Prepare yourselves,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he drew his own weapons. “Darkspawn.”

Solona drew her staff and twirled it effortlessly. When the first of the Darkspawn burst forth from the ground like a gopher, she gasped. The chain lightning spell came naturally to her mind and she slammed the butt of her staff into the ground, sparking the mana and distributing the charge across the field. The couple of Darkspawn that had appeared with the first all seized as the lightning arched between them. Alistair charged one of the closer fiends and Solona pulled her staff from the moist earth and continued to cast, attacking her own Darkspawn, further away. Jory roared loudly, his greatsword lifted high in the air as a short stubby Darkspawn ran at him. He swung downwards, slicing the thing in two while Daveth dodged in and out of the shadows, slipping behind other Darkspawn and stabbing them in the back with his daggers before disappearing again. She kept her spells away from the others, making certain to not interfere with them as much as she could. Here and there, one of her elemental bolts would whiz past one of the others, and the only one who didn't react in the least was Alistair. He was focused on the task at hand, cutting down Darkspawn with his sword and shield.

The creatures were indeed as monstrous as he had warned. She was actually grateful that he had at least mentioned it, or she might have been caught off guard. They vaguely resembled humans, elves and dwarves, but body structure was where the similarities ended. Most were dressed in tattered clothing and armor that looked like they had salvaged it from an ancient battlefield if they wore anything at all. Their weapons were just as crude. Bits of jagged metal or heavy branches fashioned into swords or clubs served most of them just fine. Some of the shorter specimens had mastered the crafting of makeshift bows, but their arrows were not overly accurate. The most horrifying thing about the Darkspawn was their milky soulless eyes and their stretched and blackened flesh. Most looked like the walking dead, with no hair and a blotchy complexion riddled with diseased patches oozing with ichor. They didn't smell much better. She forced herself to breath normally around the putrid stench, but it proved difficult. She was loathe to set any of them ablaze, and make the smell worse, but fire seemed to be extremely effective in handling larger groupings of the beasts. It figured.

When the last of them fell, she reigned in her magic and grounded herself to help her mana to recharge much quicker. She really needed to ask Alistair if he knew where to get any Lyrium potions back at camp. The man was currently busy handing small vials to both Daveth and Jory. She approached and he plopped a third in her palm. “You need a clean sample,” he explained and she immediately turned about to find one of the Darkspawn not already spreading it's blood all over the grass. Jory and Daveth looked much less willing to collect their samples. She rolled her eyes and set to work. She did her best to keep her knees out of the mess all around her and set to work, extracting the sample. Years of alchemy had taught her to be clean and careful. She managed to only get a tiny amount on her hand after removing her gloves and she wiped it on the damp grass to wash it away before corking the sample and putting her gloves back on over her hands. She stood and triumphantly shook the sample at Alistair with a grin. “Very good,” he said, taking the vial from her and carefully placing it back in the pouch it had come from. The other two took a bit longer and made much larger messes of themselves. Alistair made a face at having to carry the grimy bottles with him, and she smirked at him. “All right. Now that we have those, I will try and steer us clear of any other Darkspawn, but we still need to find those documents.”

He pulled a map from the opposite side of his belt and unfolded it to glance briefly at it. Then he led them forward in the direction they had originally been heading. They passed under a log suspended over two small hills where there were mutilated corpses blowing gently in the breeze, hung by their necks. “The Darkspawn certainly have interesting choices when decorating,” Solona mused as she prayed none of the ropes came loose while they were below.

“Poor slobs,” Alistair sighed in agreement. “Such a waste.”

The forest all looked the same to Solona, but Alistair for the most part seemed to know where he was going all the way up until they paused by a ruin that had toppled into the swamp beside them. He frowned and pulled his map out again, staring hard at it and then glancing around with a frown. She stepped up beside him, reading over his shoulder. It was a hand drawn map with several unlabeled landmarks. She frowned and cocked her head and then chuckled as she realized the confusion. She gingerly plucked the map from his hands and flipped it over. He glanced at her, his cheeks flushing slightly as she grinned at him and pointed to a crudely drawn representation of the toppled ruin beside them. “You are here,” she smirked.

“Ah yes, that makes much more sense,” he agreed with a chuckle of his own. “This is why I'm usually not the leader.”

She stuck her lip out in a mocking pout. “Aww. It's okay. I won't tell the others,” she whispered conspiratorially, patting his shoulder.

“That makes me feel so much better,” he quipped, folding the map and stuffing it back in its place. “Come on. We're not far.”

They ran into a few more groups of Darkspawn along the way to the abandoned Warden Fortress, but between the four of them, they dispatched them quickly. Alistair took the time this go round to identify the different types of Darkspawn they were encountering. The short, dwarf-like ones were called Genlocks. The taller ones, Hurlocks. Then there were the Emissaries. They were usually more intelligent than their bretheren and carried twisted gnarled staves that they used to wield dark magics. They ran into one of these very near their destination and Alistair demonstrated his templar training first hand as he dispelled the magic of the fiend before it's fireball could reach Solona.

The ruin was definitely fitted to that title. None of the walls remained any higher than a few feet off the ground. Stones and rubble laid on the ground, collecting moss like mostly everything in the wilds seemed to do. Solona could swear she even saw some growing on the toes of her boots. They stepped through the doorway, uselessly, on account of the fact that there were several caved in places where they could have simply stepped in. Not much remained around the ruin. Any furniture that may have existed years ago had all rotted away. Old animal nests sat as abandoned as the structure itself. Solona looked around and finally spotted a chest near the back of the 'room' they stood in. She headed for it, only to see that it had cracked down the middle, the seal that Duncan had said protected it, broken. “Well, that's not good,” she sighed, kneeling to inspect whether the documents still remained or of they had been carried away by animals to build nests with.

“Well, well, what have we here...” Solona jerked to her feet at the unexpected purr of a woman's husky voice breaking the silence of the ruin. She turned to see the owner of the voice gliding down a half intact ramp behind them. She was ridiculously dressed in little more than draped cloth on her top to protect her modesty and leather pants and a protective skirt over it made up of strips of leather in many different lengths. Her hair was black and pulled up into a messy bun, the front dangling in her face to frame it. Her eyes were a shocking golden color that gave Solona pause as they studied her with intelligence. The eyes were familiar. The wolf who hadn't attacked. The raven who had made her uncomfortable. The staff on her back confirmed what Solona guessed. This woman was a mage and a shapechanger. Solona narrowed her eyes as the woman approached, slowly circling them and swaying her hips as she spoke. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder... come into these Darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” She stopped in front of Solona and narrowed her own eyes, her power reaching out to lick across Solona's skin, tasting what kind of power she was up against. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

Solona crossed her arms and spoke, the woman obviously ignoring the others and asking her personally. “I am neither. This tower used to belong to the Grey Wardens.”

“Although 'tis a tower no longer,” the woman said, moving to begin circling them again. Solona followed her progress, passing between the others to put herself between them and the mysterious woman. “I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go'? I wondered. 'Why are they here'? And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?” She stopped at the top of a mound to look down on Solona and the others, crossing her arms in question.

“Don't answer her,” Alistair warned, his voice low. “She looks Chasind. That means others may be nearby.”

“Oh! You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” the woman taunted, throwing her arms up for effect.

“Yes...” Alistair said scornfully. “Swooping is bad...”

“She's a witch of the wilds she is,” Daveth accused, making Solona roll her eyes. “She'll turn us into toads.”

“Witch of the Wilds?” the woman's tone of disgust went right along with Solona's eyeroll. “Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” Her golden eyes flicked quickly to Solona and held her gaze. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys... Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

Solona maintained the easy eye contact that the woman had placed on her. She had no doubt that if the 'Witch' before them meant them any harm, they would all likely be dead already. “Solona,” she stated, offering not much else.

“And you may call me Morrigan... Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest. Something that is here, no longer?” She said, her hips swaying lightly as a wisp of a smile tugged at her full lips.

“Here no longer?” Alistair mocked. “You stole them didn't you? You're some sort of sneaky... Witch thief.”

The woman's gaze fell on him, her smile replaced with a sneer. “How very eloquent. Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily it seems,” he matched her sneer with one of his own. “Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them.”

“I will _not_! For 'twas not I who removed them,” she snapped angrily. “Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish, I am not threatened.”

Solona sighed and held her hand up. “If you didn't take the scrolls, then do you know who did?”

Morrigan returned her gaze to Solona and the sneer faded. “ 'twas my Mother, in fact.”

“Can you take us to her?” Solona asked excitedly.

“Now there is a sensible request!” Morrigan chuckled in her throat and an even wider smile appeared on her face. “I like you.”

“Careful,” Alistair hissed. “First it's all 'I like you'. Then _zap_ frog time...” Solona was aware that he was perfectly aware that turning people into toads was absolutely not what mages did. Apparently he really mistrusted Morrigan.

“She'll put us all in the pot, she will, just you watch,” Daveth stuttered.

“If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a welcome change,” Jory grumbled.

“Follow me then, if it pleases you,” Morrigan said curtly and turned to wander off.

Solona shrugged and followed. “Do you trust her?” Alistair whispered, as he caught up to her, his mouth nearly touching her ear. A sudden fluttering in her stomach made her swallow and she took a miniscule step away from him to avoid a potentially embarrassing situation.

She cleared her throat softly and whispered back. “We need those documents. Morrigan's mother has them. I don't see any real options.”

He grunted in agreement. “Just be careful.” He squeezed her arm before dropping back to a respectful distance, allowing her to follow Morrigan more closely, his hand on his sword hilt at all times.

The forest got much more dense very quickly as Morrigan led them down a game trail that she seemed to know well. It didn't take long before they emerged in a swampy area with a tiny hut planted smack dab in the middle. An elderly woman dressed in strange robes stood before the hut as if she had been waiting there for them. Her stringy hair fell lank around her sunken eyes and her wizened complexion. Her arms were crossed before her and in spite of her appearances, Solona nearly choked on the power that sloughed off the woman in waves. Morrigan approached her first. “Greetings, Mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who...”

“I see them, girl,” the woman croaked in a raspy voice. She hummed as her dark eyes fell on each of them in turn “Much as I expected.”

Alistair scoffed. “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

Her eyes fell back on him. “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight or open ones arms wide... either way, one's a fool!”

“She's a witch I tell you,” Daveth hissed. “We shouldn't be talking to her.”

Solona was getting irritated enough with him that she was ready to turn him into a toad herself. Jory beat her to scolding him. “Quiet Daveth. If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

“There is a smart lad,” Morrigan's mother said in a singsong tone. “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.”

“And what of you?” Morrigan's mother stepped up uncomfortably close to Solona, singling her out much like Morrigan herself had. “Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? What do _you_ believe?”

Solona stood her ground under the woman's scrutiny, her eyes scanning up and down her and then flicking to take in the rest of the setting that they found themselves in. “I'm not sure what to believe.”

The woman's brow arched and she stepped back. “A statement which holds more wisdom than it implies... Be always aware... or is it oblivious? I can never remember...” she sighed. “So much about you is uncertain, and yet _I_ believe... do I? Why, It seems I do...”

“Sooo, this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair said with a chuckle, nudging Solona.

“Witch of the Wilds, eh!” the woman cackled with glee. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, although she would never admit it... Oh how she dances under the moon.” She laughed again.

Morrigan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother.”

“True,” the woman agreed. “They came for their treaties, yes?” she produced an ornate cylinder with a Griffon stamped on it's side, as if from nowhere. “And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off ages ago. I have protected these.”

Solona took the cylinder from the woman and handed it to Alistair who stuttered. “You... oh, you protected them?”

“And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize...”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Solona asked.

“Either it threatens more or they realize less... Oh, do not mind me” she chuckled. “You have what you came for.”

“Time for you to go then,” Morrigan said haughtily.

“Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests,” the woman scolded.

Morrigan scowled and then sighed. “Very well... allow me to show you out of the woods.”

She left much like she had at the tower, breezing ahead, not caring if they could keep up or not. When Solona began to recognize where she was, she glanced ahead to thank Morrigan only to find that she had already vanished. Alistair sighed close behind her. “Let's get back to Duncan.”

 

Back at the camp, Solona quickly turned over the wilds flower to the kennel master before Alistair hurried her along to Duncan. “Ah you're back. I trust you retrieved the blood?”

“And the scrolls,” Solona added proudly. Alistair handed them to Duncan who quickly gave them a once over and handed them back to him.

“Good. I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately,” Duncan said with a bitter smile.

“I am ready,” Solona said, stiffening her back and lifting her chin.

Duncan sighed. “I will not lie. We Warden's pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay that price now, rather than later.”

Solona frowned. “So this ritual... it can kill us?”

“As may any Darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive,” Duncan assured her.

“Well, then let's go. I wish to see this Joining up close,” Daveth said.

“Yes. I agree. Let's have it done,” Jory said impatiently.

“Then let's begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple.”

Duncan spirited away with the pouch full of their vials and Alistair stoically led them back to where she had first met him. “The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” Jory said as soon as they were alone. He began pacing. Alistair leaned his back against a pillar, watching quietly.

“Are you blubbering again?” Daveth grunted.

“Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?” Jory growled.

“Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you,” Daveth taunted.

Solona crossed her arms and scoffed. “I swear, I'm the bravest one here, and I'm a woman.”

She saw Alistair's smirk of approval out of the corner of her eye before Jory responded. “I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me... It just doesn't seem fair.”

“Would you have come if they'd warned you?” Daveth asked throwing his arms out to the sides. “Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

“Including sacrificing us?” Jory complained.

“I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight,” Daveth sighed.

Solona fidgeted, but kept her composure. “There's no use worrying about it now. We're here, it's done. Please, quit whining.”

“Yeah, don't piss your armor,” Daveth quipped. “You saw those Darkspawn, Ser Knight. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?”

“I...” Jory stuttered and Daveth pressed forward.

“Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If nobody stops the Darkspawn, we'll die for sure.”

“I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade,” Jory sighed.

They were all silent for a time, stewing in their own thoughts. Solona mindlessly kicked at a rock with the toe of her boot. She could feel Alistair's eyes studying her as she quietly accepted her fate much less reluctantly than the others. She was grateful to Duncan. He had given her a chance to live a real life, even if it ended that night. If not for him, she'd be locked up next to Anders in solitary confinement, or worse for aiding Jowan. Her heart thudded in her chest, as the prolonged silence began to get tense. “At last, we come to the Joining.” Duncan's voice drew their attention and Daveth started like a spooked cat. Duncan didn't seem to notice. He approached a stone table that stood not far away and set down a large silver goblet with the Grey Warden griffon symbol etched on the side. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn Blood and mastered their taint.”

Solona sighed as Jory opened his mouth again. “We're... going to drink the blood of those... those creatures?”

“As the First Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory.”

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint,” Alistair explained, stepping a bit closer than where he had been leaning on the pillar. “We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.”

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining,” Duncan said when no one else spoke up. “But these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair's voice lowered as he closed his eyes and tilted his head in respect. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

Solona's heart was well and truly racing now as Duncan picked up the goblet again and nodded to Daveth. “Daveth, step forward.”

The man did as he was bidden, a hunch in his back, his feet shuffling. He took the goblet from Duncan and touched it to his lips, tipping it back to take a swallow of the thick dark liquid inside. Solona felt herself hovering in anticipation and Alistair gently took hold of her arm and pulled her backwards as Daveth clutched at his head and screamed. “Maker's breath,” Jory gasped and Daveth began to sputter and choke, grabbing at his throat. He fell to his knees and gagged before dropping like a sack onto his face and going still.

Duncan closed his eyes in sadness and shook his head. “I am sorry, Daveth.” After a brief moment, Duncan glanced away. “Step forward, Jory.”

The man's greatsword was in his hand. “But... I have a wife... a child... had I known...” He backed away from Duncan who calmly set the goblet down on the table. And followed the man as he edged away.

“There is no turning back,” Duncan warned calmly.

“No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!” Jory growled.

Duncan's dagger was out before Solona even saw him reach for it. She hugged herself as Jory attempted to best the rogue with his cumbersome greatsword. He never stood a chance. Duncan's dagger found his heart, making it quick and painless, unlike Daveth's slow suffocation. “I am sorry.” He whispered, lowering the man gently to the ground. His eyes turned to Solona, daring her to try and run. Alistair still stood at her back and somehow, it gave her courage. He was proof that not everyone died from the Joining. “But the Joining is not yet complete.” He sheathed his dagger and retrieved the goblet. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good... From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

He handed her the goblet and with trembling hands, she lifted it to her lips. The blood tasted of metal and Lyrium. She swallowed it quickly and handed the goblet back. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips. The liquid burned as it flowed down her throat. Every nerve in her body jerked and flared, her head exploded in fiery pain. Bright flashes of white assailed her vision. She could physically hear the blood pumping through her own veins. She grabbed at her head, the throbbing too much to bear. Each beat of her heart offered the sensation of someone repeatedly stabbing a chisel into her brain. Her breath caught in her lungs, but she did not choke. Her body rejected the pain, taking the taint and mingling it with her essence. Flashes of distant memories that were not her own took over her thoughts. Carnage, mayhem, blood and confusion. A sense of emptiness washed over her and then the deafening roar of a dragon.

 

There was white and then there was pain and then there was a heaviness. Hard stone pressed into her back. She pried open her own eyes, blinking away the confusion. Above her, Alistair and Duncan knelt at her side, hovering. “It is finished,” Duncan said softly. “Welcome.”

He helped her to sit up and she swallowed a wash of nausea as the metallic taste of the tainted blood hung in the back of her mouth. “Two more deaths,” Alistair sighed, standing up and offering her a hand up. He steadied her with both hands as she swayed on her feet. “In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was... horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through.” He offered her a sad smile and patted her shoulders before letting go.

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked, watching her regain the use of her limbs.

“That... That was more painful than the Harrowing,” she sighed, leaning forward and breathing in deeply through her nose and back out through her mouth, her hands on her knees.

“Such is the price we Wardens pay,” Duncan said gently.

“Did you have dreams?” Alistair asked. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining...”

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the Darkspawn as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come,” Duncan explained.

“Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far.” He lifted the necklace and reached around her neck to secure it for her. She fingered the small thing. It was bone white and shaped like an arrowhead that faced downward. In the center there was a drop of blood suspended in a barely there hollowed out crystal. The craftsman ship was like nothing she had ever seen. She tucked it between her hauberk and her skin, the magic in the blood still warm.

“Take some time,” Duncan offered. “When you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the King.”

She blanched, stumbling over her words. “I still feel in shock...”

Duncan offered her a warm smile. “Death is never easy to accept, especially when it arrives in such a brutal fashion... Honor your comrades if you wish, but know that we must press forward... Always, we must press forward. The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able.”

Duncan turned and exited swiftly. Alistair hovered for a moment more, offering her another encouraging smile before he, too left. While she had been unconscious, Jory and Daveth had been moved to the side and their bodies covered with cloths. They had done little else but annoy her the entire time she had known them, but they had fought side by side. She took a deep breath and forced her arms down to her sides from where they were hugging her gut. She flexed her fingers and took a deep breath, centering herself. “We must press forward,” she muttered.

She turned on her heel and made her way down the stairs and to the West as Duncan had asked. At the far end of what used to be a great hall of some sort, she spotted Duncan standing beside a long table that was covered in maps of the area. She quietly made her way to stand beside him as the King argued with a tall, dark haired older man. Assembled around the table were the four of them, a few of the King's guards, The Revered Mother, if her robes were to be believed, and a Senior enchanter that Solona was not familiar with. “You risk too much, Cailan. The Darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines,” the dark haired man rasped.

“If that's the case,” the King retorted. “Perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all.”

“I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves,” the man seethed. It took quite the balls to stand before the King and call him a fool to his face.

“It is _not_ a fool notion,” Cailan disagreed, shaking his head. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past... and you will remember who is King.”

“How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!” The man growled, unphased by the King's jutted chin and straight backed stare.

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?” The King snapped. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?” He turned his attention toward her and Duncan.

“They are, your majesty,” Duncan said with a tip of his head.

The King's eyes fell on Solona next and he issued her a curt smile. “And this is the young Lady I met from the Circle earlier? I understand congratulations are in order.”

She bowed slightly, her hands clasped behind her back. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Your fascination with _glory_ and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.” This man was starting to bother her. From what she'd seen of the King, he was not a stupid man, in spite of his General talking him down every other breath.

“Fine,” the King shrugged, his armor clanking noisily. “Speak your strategy.” He leaned down over the map and pointed. “The Grey Wardens and I drive the Darkspawn into charging our lines and then...?”

The other man leaned beside him. “You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover...”

“To flank the Darkspawn. I remember. This is the tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?” The King asked.

“I have a few men stationed there. It is not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital,” the dark haired man said, standing and glaring at Cailan.

“Then we should send our best,” Cailan said glancing up, his eyes meeting hers. “Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it's done.”

“You mean I won't be fighting in the battle?” she asked. Duncan had wanted more mages in the ranks and now she was being sent to light a beacon in a tower?

Duncan turned a smile on her. “We need the beacon. Without it, Loghain's men won't know when to charge.” So this man was the famous Loghain. The Hero of River Dane.

“You see?” Cailan grinned. “Glory for everyone.”

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?” Loghain asked, his eyes flicking to her and studying every cell in her body intently.

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!” Cailan growled. “Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from.”

“Your majesty,” Duncan interrupted. “You should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing.”

Solona's blood turned to ice. The dragon from her vision. She shuddered. “There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds,” Loghain informed them.

“Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?” Cailan asked with a frown.

“I... yes, your majesty,” Duncan sighed.

“Your majesty,” the Senior enchanter who had remained silent so far decided to speak up. “The tower and it's beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi...”

“We'll not trust any lives to your spells, mage,” The Revered Mother spat. “Save them for the Darkspawn.”

“Enough,” Loghain sighed. “This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.”

“Thank you, Loghain.” The King breathed in heavily. “I cannot wait for that Glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil.”

“Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all,” Loghain sighed and walked off.

The meeting broke up, everyone heading to do what needed to be done. Duncan led her back to the Grey Warden's fire and Alistair was waiting patiently for them. “You heard the plan,” Duncan said calmly, even though his face sang a different tune. “You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.” He knelt to begin preparing himself for the battle.

“What? I won't be in the battle?” Alistair asked, repeating the same question she had asked.

She stepped up beside him as Duncan stood again. “This is by the King's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge.”

Alistair pursed his lips. “So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch? Just in case, right?”

“I agree with Alistair. We should be in the battle,” Solona insisted.

“That is not your choice,” Duncan snapped. “If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the Darkspawn... exciting or no.”

“I get it, I get it,” Alistair sighed. “Just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

Solona snorted. “Now that, I'd like to see.”

Alistair glanced at her with a devious grin. “For you, maybe. But it would have to be a pretty dress.”

Duncan groaned in frustration as Solona chuckled. “The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the King's camp. The way we came when we arrived. You'll need to cross the gorge and head for the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Solona shrugged.

“We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for,” Duncan explained.

“Can we join the battle _afterwards_?” She asked hopefully.

Duncan shook his head. “Stay with the Teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word.”

She thought back to the meeting and cocked her head. “What if the Archdemon appears?”

Alistair laughed. “We soil our drawers, that's what.”

“If it does, leave it to us...” Duncan said indicating himself and the handful of other Wardens around the camp. “I want no heroics from either of you.”

She glanced at Alistair and they shared a nod. “I understand,” she agreed.

“I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.” He dropped one hand on each of their shoulders and squeezed.

Alistair grabbed his forearm and pressed his lips together. “May the Maker watch over you, Duncan.”

Duncan smiled at them both. “May He watch over us all.”

 

Once Duncan left, she shuffled her feet and glanced at Alistair. “Why do you think the King decided to bench us?”

Alistair harrumphed. “I can take a guess...” He sighed and adjusted his vambrace on his shield arm. “Come on. Let's go see if we can at least watch some of the action.”

They headed through the basically deserted camp as rain started to drip from the sky. “Oh, a nice night,” she quipped, holding out her palm and catching a drop or two with her glove. They reached the entryway where the Bridge began and Solona looked out over the amassed army below in the gorge. To the South, in the Wilds, the entire forest burned with torchlight. The horde. “Maker,” she gasped at the sheer number of Darkspawn.

A great cacophany rose over the soft pattering of the rain as the horde began to charge. Within moments, the King's voice echoed through the valley. “Archers!” Thousands of arrows lit up the night sky as they were fired, blazing with fire into the rushing Darkspawn. It was a thing of beauty to watch the arrows hitting their marks, thinning the rushing horde. Solona watched in awe, even as the Darkspawn continued to come. Another volley of arrows was loosed, dropping more of the invaders. Then she heard the King's voice again, even as the horde's evil gutteral growls and shrieks came close enough to be heard. “Hounds!” The small army of Mabari were released to charge the Darkspawn. They set upon the creatures with vicious teeth, throwing their entire bodies into the air to tackle some of the taller Darkspawn. “For Ferelden!” Cailan cried and the rest of the army began to charge. The clashing of the two armies was like a thunderclap. Archers that had remained in the camp so they could take their places on the bridge rushed out past Alistair and Solona, nearly knocking her over in their rush. Great flaming boulders shot from catapults that the Darkspawn had whizzed through the air to slam against the bridge and land all around the ruins, setting fires wherever they landed. The King's army answered with ballista fire and catapults of their own.

Alistair drew her attention. “Come on, let's get to the tower. We don't have much time.” She jogged down the ramp onto the bridge and carefully picked her way across behind the archers. She kept a close eye on the battle, and it was a good thing too. She saw a flaming boulder hurling directly at them. She grabbed Alistair and shoved him behind her, forsaking her staff and throwing up her hands to enclose them in a barrier. When the boulder struck against her magic, she grunted in effort, the force pushing her back. She immediately dropped the barrier and bits of ash and embers fell around them as the boulder dropped down into the gorge. “Maker's breath, are you okay?” he asked, steadying her.

She nodded. “Yeah, you?”

He chuckled. “Alive, thanks to you. Come on let's get off this bridge.” When they had made it past the danger, he handed her a handful of Lyrium potions attached to a belt. “I picked these up for you while you and Duncan were with the King. Thought you might need them,” he grinned.

She gratefully took the belt from him and clasped it around her waist as they walked. When they came to the gate that would lead them to the tower entrance, two soldiers came running down, breathlessly. “You're the Grey Wardens!” One of them gasped, recognizing their distinctive armor. “We need your help. The tower's been taken...”

Alistair exchanged a panicked glance with her. “What do you mean? Taken how?”

“Darkspawn came up from the basement and are all over the tower!” he explained. “We need to hurry!”

Solona and Alistair helped the two soldiers fight their way back to the tower. Darkspawn swarmed everywhere, including Alphas and a new type she had not faced before. Alistair called them shrieks. The name was quite fitting, given the loud earsplitting cries they let loose to stun their enemies. Inside the tower was no different. They fought through the first floor and Solona regretted that they couldn't find a way to close over the gigantic hole in the floor where the Darkspawn had tunneled in from. They pressed forward, climbing to the second floor.

“Maker's Breath!”Alistair said, wiping gore from his sword. “What are these Darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here.”

“You could always try telling them that they're in the wrong place,” she offered with a grin, thankful for the moment to recharge her mana and save a potion. She flexed her fingers and tossed her staff back and forth from palm to palm.

“Ho, ho, very funny. We'll all laugh about this later... At any rate, we need to get to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time. Teyrn Loghain will be waiting to charge.”

Each floor of the tower was a new and exciting adventure filled with dozens of Darkspawn. It took them what felt like forever to fight through to the top. When they finally reached the final staircase, Solona took off at a run, Alistair right on her heels. They burst through the door and Solona stopped dead in her tracks a mere three feet inside the room “Well, shit!” she cursed as the giant Darkspawn noticed them and stood up from its meal. With bits of a soldier still clutched in it's hand it roared loud enough to shake the floor and rattle her teeth. It stood a good 15 feet tall and looked just about as wide in the shoulders. It's face was very monkey like in appearance and it's head was topped with large twisted horns. It was naked, save for a loin cloth draped haphazardly around it's waist. She thanked the Maker for small favors and began to spread out, away from the others, twirling her staff. “So what do we call this one?” she asked, her voice high as she tried to draw it's attention away from the harder hitters.

“That would be an Ogre,” Alistair responded, understanding that she was trying to split it's attention.

“He's an ugly son of a whore,” she quipped, slinging a spirit bolt from the butt of her staff.

“Oh... that's just... well, you're going to hurt his feelings,” Alistair called back.

She whipped the staff around and another spirit bolt rushed for the Ogre. “I'll hurt more than that,” she assured him.

Her plan almost worked until one of the other soldiers who was with them roared a battle cry and rushed for the Ogre. The Ogre's attention snapped to the man and it swiped down with it's empty hand and grabbed him up. Solona began to whip bolt after bolt at the Ogre, trying to stun it enough to drop the man. Throwing caution to the wind, Alistair took advantage of it's distraction to begin hacking away at it's leg with his sword. It simply ignored both of them, content to reach both arms out to the sides and then slam them together again, the impact of it's two fists crushing the soldier. Blood sprayed down around Solona and she cringed, spindling more mana and drawing a glyph at it's feet to explode into flames.

When the glyph activated, Alistair's templar training kicked in and his shield tipped downwards to protect him from the blow back from her spell. She was glad he had known to do that because the flames licked dangerously close to his person. The Ogre roared as it's loincloth caught fire. “Oh, no! Not the loin cloth,” she groaned as the flames devoured the filthy fabric.

Alistair snorted as he realized why she had averted her eyes. “Now we're getting to the nitty gritty part of the war.” She touched her staff to the ground and flicked it forward toward the Ogre. Spikes of ice shockwaved along the floor toward the Ogre and it cried out in pain. “I guess you did hurt more than his feelings,” Alistair commented, cringing. When she looked back at the Ogre it was bleeding from a very sensitive place, impaled with one of her spikes.

With it stunned and trapped, she slung her staff onto her back and reached out both of her hands. She drew all of the mana she had left into her palms and whispered the incantation that called her spirit arms into being. She mimed grabbing each of the Orge's shoulders and the large spirit arms mimicked her actions. With a firm grip in the Ogre, she gritted her teeth and painstakingly pulled her arms apart. The force of her magic ripped the Ogre in two. Blood fountained from the two halves and she sunk in on herself, her mana drained. She reached for one of the Lyrium potions Alistair had given her and downed it quickly. As she replenished her stores, Alistair rushed over to the signal fire and lit it with a nearby torch. The fire roared to life, almost immediately six feet tall.

As they all relaxed, catching their breath and their task completed, Solona took a moment to hope that everything would actually turn out as it should. Alistair had almost reached her to ask after her when the door from the lower floors clicked open. Her eyes flicked upwards and she saw the arrows knocked and aimed for him. In a split second decision, she shoved him out of the way. He slipped on some of the blood still wet on the floor and his head cracked into the stone. Before she had a chance to react further, three arrows collided with her chest. She jerked backward and mind numbing pain seared through her. She remembered little else besides falling.

 


	3. Getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The burden of the Blight falls on Solona and Alistair.

The first real sensation was of falling... Or was it flying? And then there was darkness for a very long time. When her consciousness swam back to her, her body ached. Her mind felt slow and her head too large. What had happened? She frowned, even the simple expression difficult to master. She reached up with her left arm, feeling for the size of her head, and her shoulder ignited in fiery pain. _The arrow_... Suddenly she remembered. Her eyes flew open and she reached for her staff. It wasn't where it should be. She wasn't where she should be. As she took in her surroundings, her mind trying to play catch up a strangely familiar voice spoke. “Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

Her head swiveled to the left and her eyes landed on a beautiful, dark haired Chasind woman. _No... not Chasind._ “Morrigan?” she rasped, her throat dry and cracking. Her right hand reached up to prod at the aching shoulder. The flesh was knitted together, but she could feel the inside was going to take some time. There had been three arrows. She swallowed and her neck raged at her. One had struck her collar bone, the third in her side. Again, the flesh was unbroken. “What happened?” she asked, sitting up and slowly realizing she had been stripped down to her smallclothes.

“Do you not recall Mother's rescue?” Morrigan asked in shock, pouring water into a metal cup and handing it to her.

Solona drank greedily, savoring the cool liquid sliding down her parched throat. When the cup was emptied, she sat with it cradled in her hands and tried to recall anything. “You mean from the Tower? All I remember is being overrun by Darkspawn.”

“The man who was to answer your signal quit the field. The Darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend... he is not taking it well,” Morrigan provided her the short version of events.

“My friend? You mean Alistair?” _He was alive?_

“The suspicious dim witted one who was with you before, yes,” Morrigan said. “He is out by the fire, sulking. Mother wished to speak with you when you awoke.”

Solona massaged her aching shoulder and offered a bitter smile. “Thank you for everything, Morrigan.”

Shock widened Morrigan's golden eyes. “I... you are welcome... Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Even so,” Solona pressed. She glanced around the single room hut, and spotted her things washed, folded, and even mended, set on top of large chest at the foot of the bed where she had awoke. She gingerly got to her feet and padded to the chest. She dressed slowly, short bouts of dizziness threatening to topple her over.

“A healing potion,” Morrigan said handing her a small vial with a red liquid in it. “It should assist in rebuilding your strength.”

She thanked the girl again, downing the earthy tasting potion and picked up her staff from where it was leaning against the wall to slip it into the back strap. When she pushed the door open. She was thankful to see that the sun was lowering below the horizon. Her head would take time to adjust to the brightness. Just outside by a small campfire stood Alistair. He was gazing out over the water of the swampy lake, his expression saying he was lost in thought as the reeds swayed gently in the breeze. It was a stunning scene as the last of the light painted the sky with pink and orange and glinted off the chain of his armor. There was a single tear that had fallen down his cheek. Her heart went out to him. Everyone was dead, except for them. She had barely known Duncan, but he had seemed a decent man who could be both funny and companionable when the mood struck him. Before she could approach him, Morrigan's mother spotted her and said, “See! Here is your fellow Grey Warden now. You worry too much.”

Alistair spun to get a look at her, a small relief settling over his features. “You... you're alive... I thought you were dead for sure.” The relief in his tone matched that in his face.

She approached the two of them and said, “No, not dead. Thanks to Morrigan's mother.” She offered the old woman a gentle smile full of gratitude. “I appreciate your concern, Alistair.”

“This... It doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower,” he said breathily, his grief palpable.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here, lad,” the woman said brusquely.

“I.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean. You've never told us your name,” he stammered in apology.

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will do.”

Solona's eyes widened as Alistair gasped. “ _The_ Flemeth? Like from the legends? Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?”

“And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic and it has served you both well, has it not?” Flemeth said, crossing her arms.

“If you don't mind my asking,” Solona said, fascination seeping into her tone. “Why _did_ you save us?” Of all of the more important people... The King, Duncan... she had saved the two of them. The youngest and least tested of the Wardens.

“We can't have all the Grey Wardens dying. Someone still needs to deal with the Darkspawn,” Flemeth shrugged.

“Thanks to Loghain, we're the only two left,” Solona sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“It doesn't make any sense. Why would he have just left?” Alistair growled, his fists clenching.

“Now there is a good question,” Flemeth agreed. “Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature... Perhaps, he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The Archdemon...” Alistair grunted, his fists loosening as worry painted over his anger.

“I suppose that means we need to deal with the Archdemon,” Solona said, the weight of the impossible task settling on her shoulders.

Alistair shook his head. “Just the two of us? We'd never make it. Plus it is said that Archdemons are immortal. I don't know how to kill it. That is why Duncan warned us away before.”

“Can we contact the Wardens of Orlais?” she asked.

“Duncan had already contacted them. The Blight will have destroyed Ferelden by the time they could gather enough of them and travel here. We're on our own for now,” Alistair sighed.

“Surely the Wardens have other allies...” She crossed her arms.

Alistair's eyes widened. “The treaties!” He fished in his pack and pulled out the cylinder emblazoned with the Griffon. “These treaties obligate Dwarves, Elves, and Mages to lend aid to us during a Blight.” He paused. “Whatever Loghain's _insanity_ , he obviously thinks the Darkspawn are a minor threat. We'll need to convince the others that is not the case.”

“And who will believe you, hmm? Unless you think to convince this _Loghain_ of his mistake,” Flemeth flapped a hand dismissively.

“He just betrayed his own King! If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he'd be the first to call for his execution,” Alistair raged. She had not known him long, but she had not realized he was capable of such anger.

She rested a hand on his arm, gently. He looked down at her and his face softened. “Do you think Arl Eamon would believe us over the Teyrn?”

“I suppose,” Alistair sighed. “Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar. He still has all his men, and he was Cailan's uncle. I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet... We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

“Well if you ask me,” Flemeth interjected. “Dwarves, Elves, Mages and this Arl Eamon... That sounds like an army to me.”

Alistair nodded and Solona smiled briefly. “I think we're as ready as we're going to get,” she said. “Although it likely won't be easy.”

“There is one last thing I can offer to you, before you go,” Flemeth nodded toward the hut where Morrigan was exiting.

“The stew is bubbling, Mother. Shall we have two guests for the eve, or none?” Morrigan asked, snidely.

“The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them,” Flemeth said without asking.

Morrigan grinned, “Such a sha...” Before she finished her sentence, her eyes narrowed and she turned to her mother. “What?!”

“You heard me, girl. Last I checked you had ears,” Flemeth cackled.

Solona swallowed. “Thank you, Flemeth, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us...”

Flemeth held up a hand, cutting off Solona's protest. “Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the Horde.”

“Have _I_ no say in this?” Morrigan asked, outraged.

Flemeth scoffed. “You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance... As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.”

Solona lowered her gaze, finding it difficult to say no. “She can come, if she wishes.”

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she is an apostate,” Alistair pointed out.

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on top of that tower,” Flemeth grunted.

“Point taken,” he said slowly, glancing at Solona.

“Mother... this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready...” Morrigan protested.

“You must be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the Darkspawn.” Flemeth's voice softened. “They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I.”

“I...” Morrigan seemed ready to protest again, but her expression eased into defeat. “Understand...”

“And you, Wardens. Do you understand I give you that which I value above all in this world? I do this because you _must_ succeed,” Flemeth warned.

Solona squared her shoulders. “She won't come to harm with us,” she promised.

Morrigan sighed. “Allow me to get my things, if you please.” She disappeared into the hut and returned minutes later with a pack. “I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens.” Her words were gracious, but her tone annoyed. “I suggest a village North of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there... Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

“No,” Solona said, shaking her head. “I'd prefer if you spoke your mind.”

“Ha! You will regret saying that!” Flemeth chortled.

Morrigan's head snapped to Flemeth. “Dear, sweet, Mother! How kind of you to cast me out, like this! How fondly I shall remember this moment!”

“It's like I always say, if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for decades afterwards...” Flemeth said.

“Listen,” Alistair said, touching Solona's arm lightly. “Do you really want to take her along just because her mother says so?”

“We can use all the help we can get,” Solona shrugged offering him a reassuring smile.

He sighed. “I suppose you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken help from where they could find it.”

“I am so pleased to have your approval,” Morrigan said sarcastically, then turned back to Flemeth. “Do not forget the stew on the fire, Mother. I would hate to return to a burned down hut.”

“Bah! 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight!” Flemeth snipped.

“I... a-all I meant was...” Morrigan stuttered.

“Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear,” Flemeth said with a faint smile.

Morrigan refused to speak further, instead, ushering Solona and Alistair from the hut as quickly as she could, her fists clenched. She led them from the Wilds, as far from Ostagar as was possible without getting too far off track. They still ran into small roving bands of Darkspawn, but nothing the three of them couldn't handle. When they had just about reached the King's Road, Solona paused, hearing footfalls pattering towards them. A Mabari hound came charging around a bend in the road and upon spotting them, he stopped and barked wildly then turned to point his nose behind him. Solona glanced up and saw a few Darkspawn approaching that she had not felt coming in the confusion. She pulled her staff and she and the others took care of the threat, the dog lending a hand as well.

Once the Darkspawn were dead, the dog approached her and stood proudly in front of her his tiny tail wagging along with the rest of his butt. She chuckled and knelt before him to scratch his ears. “Those mean Darkspawn didn't hurt you, did they, boy?” He barked happily and leaned his head into her scratches. “I think this is the hound I helped back at Ostagar,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Alistair for confirmation.

“He was probably out looking for you. He's _chosen_ you. Mabari are like that. They call it imprinting,” he informed her.

Morrigan groaned. “Does this mean we'll have this mangy beast following us about, now?”

“He's not mangy,” Alistair said in a tone you might use to speak to an infant, sing songy and light.

“Do you want to come with us?” Solona asked the dog. His ears pricked and he barked, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I'll take that as a yes.” She said giving him one last scratch before standing and allowing Morrigan to lead them toward Lothering.

 

On the road just outside Lothering, they were met by Highwaymen looking to make some easy coin from the refugees pouring in from all over. Solona sneered at the man who addressed her, asking for ten whole silvers in toll to cross his bridge. She crossed her arms “This is the King's Road. You can't charge a toll.”

“Unless you're going to stop me, I can charge whatever I like,” the man responded. “Everyone pays the toll. That's why it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax.”

“Right,” another of the men said, his voice making her judge him to be a little bit slow. “Even if you're no refugee... You still gotta pay. Thems the rules.”

Solona cocked her hips and held her hand out before her, lightning crackling in her palm. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”

The slow man backed up. “That one's a mage. She'll turn us into toads!”

Solona couldn't help her eyes rolling. If she could get her hands on the idiot who had started that damned tale, she just might be inclined to figure out how to actually turn him into a toad. “Sweet Maker, just let us past. And I don't wish to see you stealing from any more refugees or I'll be back.” She closed her fist around the lightning and jerked toward the leader.

He jumped backward. “O-of course not. You have my word. I have seen the error in my ways.” He and the others scurried off, leaving a lot behind in their wake.

She and the others walked the few more feet to follow the ramp from the highway and down into the outskirts of Lothering. There were ramshackle tents set up all around between the road and the town itself. Refugees hurried about, doing their best to not get in the way of the day to day life of the townsfolk for fear of being run off. Solona felt for the innocents caught up between the Darkspawn and the confusion in the wake of Ostagar. “There it is,” Alistair said, his voice sarcastically chipper. “Lothering. Pretty as a painting.”

“Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us,” Morrigan said, her arms crossing as she paused behind them. Solona glanced at Alistair who cringed as Morrigan taunted him. “Falling on your blade in grief was too much trouble, I take it?”

Alistair whirled on her. “Is my being upset so hard for you to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

Morrigan chuckled and responded wryly. “Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Riiight, very creepy. Forget I asked,” Alistair said snidely.

“You have been awfully quiet,” Solona realized cocking her head at Alistair. She didn't think he'd said more than five sentences since they'd left Flemeth's. It didn't seem like him, though she had only known him about a day.

“I know,” he sighed, his tone softening. “I've just been thinking.”

“No wonder it took so long then,” Morrigan quipped, drawing a glare from Solona.

“Is this the part where we're shocked to discover you've never had a friend your entire life?” he taunted in response.

Morrigan snorted. “I can be friendly when I desire to, alas desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“Anyway,” Alistair said returning his gaze to Solona and ignoring Morrigan's jabs. “I thought you might want to discuss where we intend to go first.”

“Why are you asking me?” Solona gaped. He was the senior Warden, not her.

“Well, I don't know where we should go,” he admitted with a shrug. “I'll go wherever you think is best. I don't want to fight about it.”

“Um,” Solona said, glancing around at the roughshod tents and campfires below. Morrigan grunted and glared at her as if her indecision was a personal insult. “Let's just head to the tavern for now and get a feel for what is happening in the country before we make any decisions. I do think Redcliffe should be our first stop though.”

She noticed Alistair grin. “Arl Eamon is a good man. He raised me. I am sure he will help us.”

“If you are set on this path, the tavern is that way,” Morrigan said pointing into the village. As they passed slowly through the refugee camp, Solona could feel eyes on her. She could tell that her staff and her clothing stood out among the crowd of dirty travel weary men, women, and children trying to flee the Darkspawn. Morrigan prodded Alistair as they walked behind her toward the village gates. “I have a wonder, Alistair. If you will indulge me.”

“Do I have a choice?” the man asked with irritation.

“Of the two of you who remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden? I find it curious that you would allow another to lead while you follow.”

“You find that _curious_ , do you?” he mocked.

“In fact, you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens, or simply a personal one?” Morrigan insisted.

“What do you want me to say? That I prefer to follow? I do,” he said curtly.

“You sound so very defensive,” Morrigan said with a chuckle under her voice.

“Couldn't you just crawl into a bush somewhere and die? That would be great, thanks,” he muttered. Solona smirked. Those two got on like an old married couple. A templar at the gates warned them if they were looking for safe shelter that there was no room left in the village. Solona nodded and gingerly made her way past the presence. Templars could still make her nervous, in spite of her Warden status. Morrigan on the other hand continued past the man with little regard for the fact that he was even there. The tavern sat nestled on the opposite side of a bridge arched over a small river running through the middle of the village. Solona paused before stepping on the bridge, seeing a small boy of about six or seven. He had short tousled red hair and his tiny hands were wringing nervously as he tried to see over the heads of all of the people meandering through the village. She had a soft spot for children, having helped raise many of the younger apprentices brought to the circle.

She veered toward the boy without thinking. As soon as she approached, the boy excitedly asked her. “Have you seen my mother?”

Solona's heart melted. She knelt in front of him. “Did you get separated?”

He nodded. “Some mean men with swords came. Mother told me to run for the village and she would be right behind me. Now I can't see her.”

Solona cringed, knowing it was fruitless, but she needed to do something. She held out her hand. “Come with me and I can help you look.”

The boy pulled his hand back and shook his head vigorously. “Mother said I wasn't supposed to go with anyone.”

In times like these, that was superior advice. “Then you should probably go to the Chantry, child. Someone there will be able to help.” Solona offered in a gentle voice. Anything to get the boy off the streets and surrounded by people who could help.

The boy returned her smile. “I will!” Before he ran off, he turned back to Solona who had stood from her crouch. His tiny arms wrapped around her waist. “You're a really nice lady. Like mother.” Then he trotted off toward the Chantry.

Solona took a ragged breath, steeling herself for many more jarring encounters on her journey. If she stopped to help every child she ran into, the Blight would be long indeed. When she turned to rejoin the others, Morrigan glared at her, her upper lip curled in disgust. Alistair, on the other hand, gazed at her like she had just gained some points of favor in his book. She shrugged, her own smile crooking up on one side. She waved them off and started toward the bridge. The tavern stood as one of the larger buildings in the village. Two stories tall, and sporting a friendly sign welcoming any who needed shelter even if only for a few hours. Solona opened the door and stepped in, temporarily blinded by the mildly dimmer lighting inside. Alistair's hand fell on her shoulder and she stopped walking as a voice greeted her. “Lookie what we have here, boys.”

“Loghain's men,” Alistair hissed in her ear softly.

She blinked quickly, regaining her vision and saw several men standing before her, all of them wearing armor with the heraldry of Gwaren plastered over their chests. There were others all around the crowded tavern, watching with baited breath. The owner of the voice spoke again. “Didn't we spend all morning asking after a woman of this very description and everyone said they hadn't seen her? It seems we were lied to.”

Before Solona could react, a young, red-headed woman in Chantry robes stepped forward and said in a soft Orlesian accent. “Gentlemen, please. These are likely more lost souls seeking refuge.”

“They're more than that! Stay out of our way sister. Protecting these traitors will get you the same punishment as them,” the man threatened. Solona's Mabari, Barkspawn as she had begun to call him much to Morrigan's dismay, stepped up alongside her legs and began to growl at the men surrounding them.

“Traitors?” Solona asked.

The sister turned a sweet smile on her and explained. “Teyrn Loghain claims that Grey Wardens were responsible for the King's death. Haven't you heard?” Her kind blue eyes slowly roved up and down Solona taking in her attire.

“Enough!” Loghain's soldier snapped. “Take the Warden into custody and kill the sister. Anyone else who gets in our way will share her fate.”

One of the soldier's men twitched toward the sister and Solona saw a dagger appear in the woman's hand. Instead of stabbing the man, she kicked forward, hitting him in the shin and dropping him to the floor. Barkspawn lunged forward to protect the woman. Solona found her staff in her hands, but instead of using magic with so many innocents crowded in the small space, she lashed out, using the long shaft of wood as a quarterstaff and smacking her attackers. Morrigan fought much the same, much to Solona's shock. Alistair had disregarded his sword, but still pulled his shield, using it as both protection and a battering ram.

The scuffle didn't last long as the Chantry sister, quickly and deftly moved through their attackers, disabling them all with short swift jabs. There was a story behind that one. When the men backed off, Solona kept her staff in hand, but leaned on it, her power threatening as the speaker held his hands up in submission. “All right! You've won. We surrender.”

“Good,” the woman sighed. “They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now.”

Solona stepped forward angrily, glaring at the man. “The Grey Wardens did _not_ betray the King. Loghain did.”

“I was there,” the man growled in response. “The teyrn pulled us out of a trap.”

“The _Teyrn_ left the King to die,” she argued.

“The Wardens led the King to his death. Loghain could do nothing!” the man stammered.

Solona narrowed her eyes. “You're going to take a message to Loghain,” she growled.

The mans eyes flicked about, seeing the advantage she and her people held over him and his men. “Wh-what do you wish me to tell him?”

“The Wardens know the truth,” she said simply, stowing her staff cooly and leaving no more room for argument in her tone.

“Come on men. To Denerim,” the soldier sighed. He and his men shifted past Solona and her small party with Barkspawn growling softly at their heels.

When the tavern door closed behind them, the sister drew Solona's attention back to her. “I apologize for interfering, but I couldn't just sit by and not help.”

“No, it's fine. I appreciate what you tried to do,” Solona responded.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering... Or, I _was_ ,” she said sweetly.

“Lay sister? I don't believe I've heard that term,” Solona said, her hand resting on Barkspawn's head to calm him.

“I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am not a priest or initiate,” she explained.

“I see,” Solona said, feeling a trusting smile pulling her own lips. “My name is Solona.”

“I know you are a Grey Warden which means you will be battling the Darkspawn, yes? This is what Grey Wardens do? After what happened, I assume you will need all the help you can get. That is why I am coming with you.” The Chantry sister invited herself along.

Solona's brow rose. “You're awfully eager... why is that?”

“The Maker told me to,” she said without skipping a beat.

“Can you... elaborate?” Solona asked.

The woman sighed and finally looked sheepish. “I... I know that sounds absolutely insane, but I had a dream... a vision.”

“More crazy?” Alistair muttered. “I thought we were all full up.”

“Look at the people here,” Leliana said softly, her hand reaching out to draw attention to the frightened souls. “They are trapped in this darkness, and this despair will spread... The Maker doesn't want this. What you are meant to do is the Maker's work. Please, let me help.”

Solona studied the woman. She clearly had more to her background than Chantry sister, and her fighting skills were impressive. They had already accepted Morrigan into their ranks, what was another helping hand? “Very well. I'll not turn away help where it is offered.”

“Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother thought,” Morrigan quipped as Leliana thanked her profusely.

“Wait here and I will get my things. You will not regret giving me this chance. I promise,” Leliana said.

Solona took a seat at a nearby table and the others joined her. As they enjoyed a warm meal and waited for Leliana to return, they listened intently to the gossip that permeated the busy tavern. Mostly it told them nothing more than they already knew. Loghain had named himself the Queen's regent, and as his daughter, she had gladly accepted. The Darkspawn were ravaging what was left of Ostagar and slowly making their way further North. Lothering's Bann had abandoned the village, leaving his people in dire straights. There was talk of civil war in the Bannorn over Loghain's rise to power, and much more unsettling news. When Leliana returned, she was dressed in a simple studded leather armor set, with strips of leather attached to her top to form simple tassets over leather form fitting leggings. It was much more becoming on her than the Chantry robes had been. She had a quiver full of arrows and a bow slung over her shoulders. Solona would not have been surprised to discover an arsenal of knives hidden on her person as well. Her chin length red hair was tamed only by a single thin braid that mingled with the rest of her hair on the left side of her head. She did not seem bothered in the least by the whisps that hung in her face as she joined them.

“I am ready to go whenever you are,” she said sweetly.

“I think I've heard enough,” Solona agreed. It wasn't likely to take them longer than five days to get to Redcliffe, but she wanted to get underway. Dealing with Loghain needed to be their primary goal. She had a feeling their efforts would be impeded if he was allowed to remain in power.

They left the tavern and headed North for the King's road. At the edge of Lothering, Solona found herself distracted yet again. In a cage merely wide enough for someone to stand in, there was a very tall, dark skinned man. She had read about the Qunari, the giants from the North. Most of them had horns and gray skin, but this man was an exception, though with his size, he could be nothing but. He was speaking to himself in a strange language that she was totally unfamiliar with. His tone made it sound as though he were praying. Her feet carried her closer to his cage as she studied his sharp cheekbones and short curved and pointed ears. He had white hair, braided in thick rows over his skull and secured in a tail at the back of his head, that stood out in contrast to his dark skin. He must have heard her approaching, his eyes opening slowly to study her with as much regard as she was giving him. His eyes were a dark red, close to brown in the proper lighting. She stopped before him, and their eyes met. “You are not one of my captors. Leave me be. I shall not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace.”

“Who... who put you here?” Solona stammered, wondering how such a formidable creature had been left to swing in a cage.

Leliana spoke up, forcing the Qunari's eyes to slide over to her. “The Revered mother says he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children.”

“It is as she says,” the Qunari sighed. “I am Sten of the Beresaad. The Vanguard of the Qunari peoples.”

Solona felt a strange connection to this creature, driving her with the need to do something. “I am Solona. Pleased to meet you.”

His strange eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. “You are mocking me... or you show a respect I have not come to expect in these lands.”

Solona shook her head and then indicated her party. “I find myself in need of skilled help.”

Alistair cleared his throat, but did not protest. “Against what?” Sten asked with what she deemed as curiosity.

“I am sworn to defend against the Blight,” she offered.

“Ah, so you are a Grey Warden then?” he asked.

“I am,” she confirmed.

“My people have heard legends of the Grey Warden's strength and skill... though I suppose not all legends can be true,” he said, his eyes again taking her in studiously.

Ignoring the insult, she said, “Would the Revered Mother let you free?”

He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps if you informed her that you wished my help against the Blight.”

Morrigan huffed. “This is a proud and noble creature. If you do not wish to use him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone.”

“Mercy?” Alistair said in shock. “I wouldn't have expected that from you.”

Morrigan crossed her arms. “I would also suggest Alistair take his place in the cage.”

“Right, now _that_ I would have expected,” Alistair sighed.

“Leliana, can you take me to the Revered Mother?” Solona asked, ignoring the squabble.

She smiled, casting her eyes over the Qunari. “Yes. Of course. She'll be in the Chantry.”

“I will be back,” Solona assured the Qunari, who watched her with curious eyes.

The Chantry was back through the village and across the bridge. Leliana led them slowly, humming softly to herself. Inside, there were more refugees and templars crammed into the space. Priests meandered among the crowd, offering assistance and prayers for the misfortunate. Halfway along the rows of pews, Alistair gasped and briefly touched Solona's arm to draw her attention. Leliana paused and looked around to see they had stopped. Alistair jogged up to a man with his nose buried in a book to their right. “Ser Donnal is that you?”

The man looked up and after a moment he smiled. “Alistair? By the Maker, how are you? I... I was certain you were dead.”

Alistair grimaced as Solona stepped up to join him. “Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain.”

The knight sighed. “If Arl Eamon were well, he would set Loghain straight in an instant.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked, his voice raising in alarm. “Is the Arl sick?”

The man nodded. “The Arl is stricken with an illness that threatens his life. So far there is no cure, natural or magical, that we have been able to find.”

“When did this happen?” Alistair demanded.

“It has only been a little over a week since he fell ill, but he has declined quickly. Our only hope is a miracle, which is why the Arlessa has sent every knight in their service in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. My search has led me here to the library, but I am not convinced that we aren't chasing a fable,” the knight explained.

Solona sighed and glanced at Alistair. “Is there even a point in going to Redcliffe now?”

He nodded. “I think we may even have more of a reason to. Even if it is just to see what's happening ourselves.”

Solona agreed with a nod. “What exactly is the Urn of Sacred Ashes?” she asked Donnal.

“It is the Urn said to hold the ashes of the Prophet Andraste. Rumor and legend state that the ashes hold powerful curative magics,” he told her.

She glanced at Alistair who shrugged. “Thank you Ser Donnal,” she said with a tip of her head. The information was useful.

“I have found nothing here. I should return to Redcliffe myself. Good day,” the knight returned her half bow and offered a handshake to Alistair before leaving the Chantry.

Leliana took the brief detour with a grain of salt and with a nod from Solona she sashayed ahead again toward the Revered Mother's rooms. It took a bit of convincing, but the woman finally handed over the keys to Sten's cage with an assurance from Solona that she would take Sten's future actions on her conscience.

They returned to the Qunari in question and with a smile, Solona unlocked the cage. “So it is done,” he said with a sigh, stretching his shoulders as he stepped from the cage. “I will join your cause and assist you with the Darkspawn. In doing so, I shall find my atonement.”

“I'm glad to have you along, Sten,” Solona said.

He grunted and ignored her extended hand. “Let us be off, I am eager to be elsewhere.”

The rag tag band passed through the outskirts of the Village, going around the large windmill just ahead of where Sten had been imprisoned. Solona was wondering where she might get armor that would fit Sten to replace the clothing that was barely fitting him when she heard a voice cry out for help. “That came from the road,” Leliana pointed out.

Solona drew her staff and carefully began to spindle her magic. She had not worked with so many wild cards in her group before and she didn't wish to accidentally set one of her new companions on fire. Up on the road, a group of Darkspawn were trying to attack a pair of dwarves who were evading them quite successfully by hiding behind the overturned carts along the path.

Sten roared loudly and charged into the fray, regardless of his lack of armor or weapons. Using his bare hands, he ripped into the Darkspawn. Leliana stayed back, even further behind Morrigan and Solona herself, unleashing a volley of arrows that seemed to both multiply and never miss. Solona could hear her singing softly over the noise of the battle. She was definitely a strange one. Alistair took a moment to gawp at Sten as he thrashed in the midst of the Darkspawn before charging in himself, Barkspawn on his heels. There were only a few Darkspawn and the fight was over quickly. Solona jogged up to glance around at the carnage when the elder of the two dwarves addressed her party. “Mighty timely arrival there, my friends. I am much obliged.”

“Happy to help,” Solona said, glancing around at the destruction of the carts. “Everyone okay?”

“I think me and the boy will be fine. Name's Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur, and this here's my boy Sandal.” After a cheery 'hello' from the boy who stared at her with a glassy vacant expression, he continued. “What brings a group like yours to the road. Perhaps we're going the same way?”

Solona chuckled. “Well, it's a bit complicated, but you're welcome to tag along.”

“Complicated?!” Bodhan let out a bellowing laugh. “I don't know. I think this was enough excitement for me and the boy. I thank you kindly, but we'll just get this mess cleaned up and be on our way.”

“Safe travels,” Solona said with a smile and returned to the others. “To Redcliffe?”

Alistair nodded and held a hand out for her to lead the way with a half bow and a grin.

 

_Thousands, no millions, of fires burned below, scenting the cavern with smoke and char. Her eyes burned from the lack of fresh air. She rubbed at her sockets, wishing the watering would stop. Her brethren all around were agitated and restless, making her own flesh crawl with the need to hit something. Moving was good. She stomped her feet and wrung her hands. Suddenly, the sweet song returned. How she longed to follow it into the abyss. Orders from on high. Go forth and spread your taint on a world unfit to continue. And spread they would, like a plague until they swallowed everything. Then there would be peace, and time to search for the others. For now, the God had spoken and he opened his great gaping maw and roared, unleashing fiery death on any who opposed. Direction in the chaos._

Solona jerked awake, her breath catching in her throat. She shot up from her bedroll, sweat glistening on her brow. She lifted trembling hands and shoved them through her hair, catching in the braids at the front. She was having a hard time breathing, like smoke in her lungs. She panted, her chest heaving as the panic attack passed. “Bad dreams, huh?” Alistair's voice drew her attention across the fire where he sat, poking aimlessly at the dying flames. His own bedroll served as more of a padding on the ground to sit on rather than sleep on. He was sitting with one knee drawn up to his chin, the other lazily drooping toward the ground. Had he slept at all?

She calmed herself, not fully trusting her voice and let out a sharp chuckle. “Must have been something I ate...” she was right not to trust her voice.

“Drank more like... as in the tainted blood, remember?” he said with a small knowing smile. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her shins to rest her chin on her knees. “You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the Darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them. The Archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it, just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight.”

“The Archdemon... is that the dragon?” she asked, her voice a bit less shaky as he explained, his tone comforting her in it's understanding.

“I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the Archdemon,” he said with a frown and a shudder. “It takes a bit, but eventually, you can block the dreams out. Some of the Older Grey Wardens say they can understand the Archdemon a bit, but I sure can't... Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary, at first for me, too.” He offered her another light smile of understanding.

She returned the expression, a small weight lifting from her shoulders. “Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it.”

He snorted. “That's what I'm here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one liners. Anyhow,” he pulled his legs up underneath him and tossed the stick he was poking the fire with into the blaze then brushed his palms together before he stood. “You're up now right? Let's pull up camp and get a move on.”

The others began to stir as the sun started to peek above the horizon. She glanced around to take account of her people. Barkspawn laid at the edge of camp, his chin resting on his paws as he gazed outward, keeping an eye for trouble. Morrigan had set up a lean-to at the far side of camp, as far as she could get from everyone else. Leliana was humming softly as she brewed a quick cup of tea over the fire, her own bedroll not far from Solona's. She had shown an interest in talking the night before, but Solona had been exhausted. She had settled instead for telling a short Orlesian fable. The bedtime story, as it were, had strangely helped Solona to fall asleep. Sten sat stoic and un-moving between Morrigan and the fire. He had grunted when posed with any questions, so she had left her prodding for when she was feeling less tired.

Off to the edge of camp, she noticed that the merchant dwarf from the day before had quietly stopped his wagon and set up his own space. Sten was pulling on a brand new set of heavy plate armor and Solona realized he had a large greatsword on the ground beside him. He must have gotten them from the dwarf. The pauldrons on his shoulders made him look even larger than he had in the simple peasant clothing she'd found him in. Alistair was quietly collecting his own things with a pained expression on his face. She sighed softly, hating to see him hurting. Duncan had apparently meant a lot to him besides being his mentor. She dragged her bedroll over next to him and began rolling it. He regarded her with inquisitive eyes and she asked, “Would you like to talk... about Duncan?”

He cringed, but his smile was quick to mask the pain. “You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did.”

She bit her lip and nudged him with her elbow. “He was like a father to you, I understand.”

“I...” he sighed and buckled his bedroll to his pack. “Should have handled it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning this could happen... Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not with so much riding on us. Not with the Blight and... and everything. I'm sorry.”

She gripped his arm, drawing his gaze from the ground back to her. “There is no reason to apologize.”

“I'd... I'd like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe when this is all done, if we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of,” Alistair sighed.

Solona squeezed his arm where her hand still rested and pressed her lips together in a encouraging smile. “He had you.”

A grin unfolded on the young warrior's face, lighting up his features. “I suppose he did...” The smile half faded. “It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.”

Her hand slid from his arm and she went back to handling her bedroll as her own stomach clenched. She had felt the same way. “No, it's not stupid. I understand.”

“Of course, I'd be dead then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would make him happier... I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting something up in his honor. I don't know.” He glanced over at her. “Have you... had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry... I'm just....”

He was looking for guidance on what to do with his grief. Unfortunately, she had no answers for him. She shook her head slowly. “No. Not since I was given to the circle. That was a very long time ago.”

He nodded. “That must have felt a lot like when I got sent to the Chantry. You mages don't even get a say in the matter, after all.” His tone was sad and sympathetic. Before she could answer, a genuine smile pulled at his lips, his eyes sparkling. “Thank you. Really. I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.”

“Maybe I'll go to Highever with you when you go,” she offered with her own smile.

“I'd like that,” he said with mild surprise. “He would too, I think.”

She decided to steer the conversation toward more pleasant topics while the others gathered themselves. She really had no belongings to speak of and a few minutes to kill time. “You know, I lived beside templars all my life, but I never really knew much about them. What can they do, exactly?”

With a cock of his brow, he glanced up and down her to see if she was serious. Realizing she was actually talking to him for talking's sake, he grinned. “Essentially, they're trained to fight. The Chantry would tell you that the templars exist simply to defend, but don't let them fool you. They're an army. The other main purpose for a templar is of course, to hunt mages.” He cringed, likely worrying she would take offense. “To that end, we train in talents that drain mana and disrupt spells.”

“So in a way,” she said, fascination outweighing any offense she might have felt. “Templars are magic themselves.”

He grinned. “You could call it that, sure. The Chantry doesn't look at it the same way, however, since really our talents only work on mages. Against a regular person, I'm just a guy in a metal suit.”

“If they are so formidable, shouldn't templars run the Chantry?” she asked, her brow raised.

“You'd think that, wouldn't you, but it's not so. The Chantry keeps a close reign on it's templars. We are given Lyrium to help develop our magical talents, you see... which means we become addicted.” Solona had read about Lyrium addiction in those who weren't mages. It was a horrible thing. “And since the Chantry controls the Lyrium trade with the dwarves... well, I'm sure you can put two and two together.”

“That's horrible! I can't believe they would do such a thing.” Men who weren't mages were susceptible to awful side effects from Lyrium withdrawl. Headaches, nightmares, memory loss, madness and even death.

“Well, they do it,” he shrugged with a grimace. “And they feel perfectly justified. You don't _need_ Lyrium in order to learn the templar talents. Lyrium just makes templar's talents more effective. Or so I was told. Maybe it doesn't even do that. The Chantry doesn't usually let their templars get away, either, so they can spread their secrets. I'm a bit of an exception. Lucky me.”

She cocked a brow at him again. His words about the Chantry had been less than complimentary so far. “If you hated it so much, why did you remain a templar?”

He chuckled. “Have you seen the uniform? It's not only stylish, but well made. I'm a sucker for good tailoring.”

She snorted. “In that case, you should have been a mage.”

“Oh, you aren't kidding,” he laughed. “I think the templar uniforms are as colorful as they are just so they didn't feel dull in comparison. Last thing you want when you're about to take down some maleficar in the woods is to have him point and laugh at your taste in clothing. Am I right?”

“Seems like it might happen anyway,” she smirked.

His grin didn't falter. “Oh, ow, ow. Stab wounds to the pride are the worst.” As his laughter faded, he sighed. “You don't really want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's really quite boring.”

She shrugged, brushing a bit of dirt from her own knees. “Then make up something more interesting.”

“You know, I like the way you think... but I guess if you're really curious, there's no harm in obliging. I have a couple of interesting looking moles I can show you later, too, if you're interested.” he sighed and then continued. “The truth of the matter is that I did hate going to the monastery. The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me. I felt like Arl Eamon had cast me off, unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter. But I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it.”

“I think I understand,” she said, thinking of how she had been brought to Kinloch Hold, frightened and trapped, and how the only good thing there had been learning to harness her magic.

“Using the abilities I have came after years of education and discipline that was difficult to achieve, if rewarding. The sword training and religious doctrine all came later... I never really felt at home anywhere though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered Darkspawn magic, so I kept it up. What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?”

She shrugged. “I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now. Here on the road with you.”

His brow lifted and he smirked. “Really? I... I guess I like the sound of that.” She realized too late how what she had said sounded, though he seemed to brush it off. “We won't always be traveling like this, you know. Once the war is over, once the Blight is... well, a time will come when we'll have to think about having a real home again. Though that seems like a far ways off. And I suppose the Grey Wardens are gone for good, either way.”

She scoffed. “They can be rebuilt.”

“I suppose you're right,” he said with a sigh. “We can create new Grey Wardens, but we'll never get back those we lost. I wonder if it would ever feel the same?” He glanced around the camp where she realized the others were just about finished getting themselves together as well. “Anyway, now I've sidetracked us. We'd better get back to what we're supposed to be doing right now.” He backhanded her arm lightly before standing and shouldering his pack.

 


	4. The Trouble with Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real work begins when Redcliffe is overrun by undead.

What they were supposed to be doing was apparently walking for miles upon miles per day. Solona was so grateful for her comfortable fur lined boots that Duncan had given her. Her mage slippers would have given her no end of grief. As they trundled along, Solona finally had a chance to indulge Leliana in the conversation she had been dying to have since the night before. They simply talked casually for a bit, Leliana sharing short stories and heading off on a tangent about shoes that Solona allowed her to indulge before getting to what she was interested in talking about. “So, about this vision of yours...”

Leliana's graceful steps faltered and her smile faded. “I knew this would come up eventually...” she sighed and plucked a leaf from a bush along the side of the road. “I don't know how to explain,” she said, breaking the leaf into tiny bits and then allowing them to float off on the breeze. “I had a dream... in it, was an impenetrable darkness. It was so dense, so real, and there was a noise... a terrible un-godly noise. I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything. And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I fell... and the darkness drew me in.” She spoke with a passion that heralded a deep belief in what she had seen. “When I awoke, I went to the Chantry's gardens as I always do. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered. Everyone knew that bush was dead. It was gray and twisted and gnarled. The ugliest thing you ever saw. But there it was, a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out his hand to say, 'even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith'. He spoke directly to my soul in a language no human tongue can express. There are so may good things in the Maker's world. How can I sit by while the Blight devours everything?”

Solona shrugged. “I suppose I couldn't just sit by either.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “That is why you are a Grey Warden, no? I hear Him in the wind and the waves. I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin.” She held out her arm, allowing the sun to kiss along her freckled skin. “I know what the Chantry says about the Maker, and what should I believe? What I feel in my heart, or what others tell me?”

Leliana spoke with such unbridled faith that Solona could not help being pulled into her words. “I actually prefer your beliefs to those of the Chantry.”

“They said my ideas were blasphemy,” she said with mild irritation, giving Solona some insight into why she had been in the tavern in Lothering instead of with the other sisters in the Chantry. “But is it so bad if what I believe gives me comfort? If it could give someone else comfort? I know what I know and no one will ever make that untrue.” With that, the conversation was over. Leliana picked up her pace to walk ahead with Sten.

Solona sighed and drew her staff from it's holster to use as a walking stick. A short chuckle came from behind her and she turned to see Alistair. “You know, sometimes the mage's clothing isn't the only better thing they get.”

“Maybe you should see if Bodhan would sell you a walking stick. I'm sure he has one in that cart.” She nodded her head toward the back of their little group where the dwarf and his son had taken up residence. She had decided to ignore it for the time being. Their presence made no difference to her.

“No. I have my dignity... well, some at least. Waltzing into Redcliffe leaning on a staff would just confuse the villagers into thinking they were dealing with more than two mages. Chaos and embarrassment would ensue...” He shook his head and let the sentence fall.

She slowed her pace to walk beside him. “So, you said Arl Eamon raised you?”

“Did I say that? I meant dogs raised me. Giant slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact,” Alistair said nervously.

Her first instinct to make a joke had so far been the best idea when it came to Alistair. It had led her to some very telling insights. The comment rolled off her tongue as she sniffed the air. “That _would_ explain the smell,” she agreed with a smirk, not looking at him.

His answering sarcasm told her that the joke had been received as intended. “Well it wasn't until I was eight that I discovered you didn't have to lick yourself clean. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

She held back her snort. “Well that explains the breath as well, then.”

“And my table manners, too. Though come to think about it, they weren't all that different from the other templars...” he said. She allowed herself a glance in his direction and he was grinning profusely. “Or did I dream all of that? Funny the things you dream about when sleeping on the cold hard ground.”

Now she did snort. “Like the ones where we're making mad love in a tent?” She gasped at her own words as they tumbled from her mouth. Had she just sad that? Maker. Where had that come from? She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and she tripped on a root that was sticking up through the dirt in the road.

In spite of what she had just said, Alistair chivalrously reached out to steady her, his hand on her bicep. “Oh, I...” he cleared his throat. “I think I just completely lost my chain of thought...” he let go of her arm and pointed off to the side. “Oh, there it is...” After a moment of looking anywhere but at her, he opened his mouth and continued as if she had never even said anything taudry, the tips of his ears slightly pink. “Let me see, how do I put this? I'm a bastard!” he said lightly and then held his hand up to her. “And before you make any smart remarks, I mean the _fatherless_ kind.” His hand dropped and if they hadn't been walking, she swore he would have shuffled his feet. “My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle who died giving birth to me. Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyway, and put a roof over my head. He was good to me and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough.”

The words had rushed out of him like a waterfall over a cliff. When he finished speaking, he glanced at her again, his smile sheepish. “So you blamed him _then_ , I take it?” she asked slowly.

He shrugged languidly. “I was young and resentful, and not very pious. Of course I blamed him. I remember screaming at him like a little child.” He cringed, but continued. “Well, I _was_ a child, so I doubt he was surprised.” A sigh escaped his lips between sentences and she watched the fog drift up to halo his head. Was it really that cold? She hadn't noticed. “Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the King because it was so soon after the war, but he loved her.” His eyes fell on her as he spilled his confession, making her feel mildly awkward. “Anyhow, the new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she did.” Solona was completely wrapped up in the story, needing to know more. “So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The arlessa had made certain the castle wasn't a home to me at that point. She despised me!”

“What an awful thing to do to a child.” Solona cringed, remembering being ripped from her own family at such a young age. At least her magic had been an excuse. Alistair had been cast out because a woman was jealous of a rumor.

“Maybe..” he sighed with a shrug. “She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her. She wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet.” He trailed off and Solona was about to give him some privacy, thinking the conversation was over. She felt awful having brought up something so painful. It seemed her lot lately to live with her foot inserted deep in her mouth. Especially that comment about mad love in tents. Maker, her throat clenched and her stomach flipped just thinking about it. She really had no idea where that had come from. Before she could walk off, however, he spoke again, his voice much softer. “I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so _furious_ at being sent away that I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do,” he slapped his hand at a passing bush, rattling the leaves. Another long pause had her waiting, this time more patiently. “The Arl came by the Monastery to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and I blamed him for everything... and eventually he just stopped coming.”

Solona frowned. Even her own parents had never traveled to Kinloch Hold to visit her or check in. She had never even gotten letters. “Are you sure the Arl wasn't your father?” she asked softly.

“Yes, I'm quite sure.” he said with certainty. “At any rate, I don't look anything like him. You'll see for yourself. Not that it stopped the rumors any... All I know is that the Arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He was also King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to make Loghain pay for what he did.” Alistair's fists clenched as he spat Loghain's name. “Anyway, that's really all there is to the story.”

“I appreciate you sharing it with me,” Solona said, her words sounding dull even to her.

He raised his brow slightly before grinning. “Ask and ye shall receive,” he mocked.

 

Solona managed to keep her foot from her mouth for quite some time as they traveled to Redcliffe. She conversed with everyone, even dragging extremely short one-sided conversations with Sten. If that was all she was going to get, she would make do. Morrigan was equally as opposed to conversation, but she would not grunt or turn away silently when Solona approached her as Sten did. She out right spoke her annoyance at Solona's attempts at friendship and acceptance. “Why do you find it necessary to probe me for such useless information?” she had asked. When Solona had said she was simply curious, Morrigan had grinned, her darkly beautiful face lighting up with both shock and amusement. “Any number of cats could warn you against such a pastime.” She had indulged her even so.

Leliana and Alistair, on the other hand, were open books for her to read. Both were friendly and amicable, making Solona feel not quite so alone in the world. They would set up camp amidst laughter and familiarity that they had no right to be sharing since they had really only known each other a few days. Even with the Blight and the Civil War ahead of her, Solona was free. Something she had never been before. She had never thought for herself, or cooked a meal, never made a friend that couldn't be of use to her for anything other than gaining something in the circle. She had learned pragmatism very early in life. Now her walls were falling down in the company of these well armed strangers that had chosen her as their leader, Maker-knew-why. She was slowly learning her way around each of them, building a rapport and standing as a median between the other's differing personalities.

On their third night, she, Barkspawn, Leliana and Alistair were sitting around the fire. Sten was not far away, sitting cross-legged and muttering in his strange language. He had referred to it as Qunlat. Morrigan, as usual had detatched herself from the group as soon as they had made camp. She had her own small fire burning by her lean-to. Solona sighed, stirring the stew that Alistair had managed to make with a couple of rabbits that Leliana had picked off with her bow in the woods that afternoon as they walked. The gray liquid seeped around her spoon looking unappetizing. She glanced over at Morrigan who didn't seem interested in either their food or their company. Sten's own bowl sat abandoned beside his knee. Finally, she gave her companions a bitter smile and said, “I'm going in.”

She stood and stretched, careful not to spill the contents of her bowl. As unappetizing as the stew looked, she was starving. Alistair and Leliana both cocked their heads in curiosity before she trudged off and headed for Morrigan's little self imposed solitary confinement. She plopped herself down on a small stump that was across Morrigan's fire. The shapeshifter eyed her warily before sighing. “What do you wish of me?”

Solona pursed her lips and glanced around the small space and a topic slipped into her mind. “So,” she stirred her stew again and took a small bite before continuing. “Growing up in the Wilds must have been lonely.”

A small noise of annoyance left Morrigan's throat, but as usual, the woman indulged her, closing the book she had been reading and placing it to the side before answering. “At times, perhaps. A world full of people and buildings and things was all very foreign to me. If I wished companionship, I ran with the wolves or flew with the birds. If I spoke, 'twas to the trees.”

To Solona, that sounded wonderful, but Flemeth had mentioned that Morrigan had been itching to leave the Wilds. “You eventually left, I assume?”

Morrigan smiled briefly. “Such simple pleasures will only enthrall so long.” A soft self recriminating chuckle hummed from her as she shook her head. “I recall the first time I crept beyond the edge of the wilds. I did so in animal form, remaining in the shadows and watching these strange townsfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman by her carriage, adorned in sparkling garments the likes of which I had never before seen. I was dazzled. This, to me, seemed what true wealth and beauty must be. I snuck up behind her and stole a hand mirror from the carriage. 'Twas encrusted with gold and crystalline gemstones and I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back to the wilds.”

“What happened then?” Solona asked, her dinner forgotten as she became enraptured in Morrigan's story.

“Flemeth was _furious_ with me. I was a child and had not yet come into my full power, and I had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, Flemeth took the mirror and _smashed_ it upon the ground. I was heartbroken.”

Solona gasped in dismay, feeling the heartbreak right along with Morrigan. “But you were just a child...”

Morrigan's sadness was replaced immediately by a hardening of her features as she pulled her walls back up around her. “And a foolish one. Flemeth was right to break me of my fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been.”

Solona sighed, picking her jaw up from the ground. What a horrible way to treat a child. Even the Circle had not been that cruel. No wonder getting through to Morrigan was so difficult. “Those are harsh lessons to teach a child,” Solona offered, feeling the need to at least attempt to make up for bringing up the harsh memories.

Morrigan shrugged her shoulders slowly, leaning back against her pack. “Perhaps, but they were necessary, still. To return to your original question, perhaps my time in the wilds was indeed lonely. But such was how it had to be.” A deep sigh escaped her. “I find myself at times wondering what might have become of the girl with the beautiful, golden mirror... but such fantasies have no place amidst reality.”

Solona watched Morrigan for a moment, hating Flemeth for her cruelty. Morrigan was beautiful, intelligent, and a very powerful mage. Turning her into a broken shell of a human being had not been necessary. Though, Solona was hardly surprised. If Flemeth was truly the Witch of the Wilds from the legends, there would be little room for love and nurturing in her heart. If she even had one. “So is Flemeth really what she seems to be?”

Morrigan's gaze fell on Solona, their previous conversation buried under a smiling mask. “Well, that depends, does it not? What does she _seem_ to be?”

Solona snorted and mumbled. “A nutty old bat?”

Morrigan's laughter rung out across the camp. “Sometimes I do wonder the very same thing... Tell me... how much do you know of the tale? The one that the Chasind still tell of my mother to frighten them into obedience?”

“I only know a little of it,” Solona admitted. Leliana had graced them with a retelling the night before, but Solona scarcely believed the details.

“I can relay what Flemeth once told me, herself, and you can decide whether or not 'tis the truth. If you desire.” Morrigan swooped her hand in front of her as an inviting gesture.

“Absolutely. That sounds interesting,” Solona agreed, folding her legs up under her to get more comfortable.

Morrigan launched into a retelling of a similar tale to the one Leliana had told last night, save for a few details that changed the story significantly. Solona listened with rapture, wondering how much of it actually was true, or which version to believe. Getting it straight from the horse's daughters mouth seemed the more reliable story. Solona asked Morrigan for her opinion on some of the matters and whether or not she believed Flemeth's version. She seemed confident that Flemeth had not lied to her. When Solona thanked her for the story, Morrigan cocked her head. “Flemeth tells it with far more embellishment than I, but you are welcome. Dare I ask of your own mother? Few are abominations of legend, 'tis true, but I find myself curious, none the less.”

Solona perked up. Morrigan had never shown interest in anything before. She opened her mouth and then realized that she really didn't know her mother. “There really isn't much to say. I never got a chance to know her.”

“I see,” Morrigan said with a sigh and picked up her book again. “Well, if you are finished, I find myself all talked out for the evening.”

Solona gathered up her bowl with a sigh of her own. “Alistair made food if you're interested.”

Morrigan's lip curled up. “I shall make do. I want nothing from that fool.”

Solona turned and headed back towards the campfire where Leliana had retired and Alistair stared into the fire. He looked as though there were something on his mind, but Solona never made it to the fire to ask him. A man stumbled into the camp covered in leaves and mud and looking a bit lost. Sten's sword was in his hands instantly and Barkspawn rushed to stand in front of Solona, hackles raised and growling.

The man jerked backwards, throwing his hands in the air and looking as though he might soil his trousers. His eyes flicked over everyone who was now brandishing a weapon of some kind at him, except for Solona who had done no more than drop her bowl and yelp. When his gaze fell on her, he took in her armor and in spite of the threat, he grinned. “You're a hard woman to find.”

She took in his ragged appearance and narrowed her eyes. “And who exactly are you?” she asked, crossing her arms as she realized he was not even armed with a dagger. How had he gotten here without being robbed or worse?

“Where are my manners? The name's Levi. Levi Dryden,” he twitched to hold out his hand, but realized he was still under scrutiny. “Did Duncan ever mention me? Levi of the coins? Levi the trader?”

“Can't say he did. There were a few more important things on his mind when we met,” Solona said, kneeling to pick up the bowl from the ground and silencing Barkspawn's growl with a pat. The man was harmless, and he apparently knew Duncan. “So you knew him?”

She heard Alistair's sword find it's sheathe. “For years, I called him a friend, but I am not here to waste your time while you've a Blight to stop. I just thought you might wish to know about the mutually beneficial arrangement that Duncan and I had.”

Solona settled back on a hip, her eyes still trained on the intruder. “ _How_ did you know him?”

“Bit of a tale, that is. But I'm the man who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden... Well, one of them. There were a lot of us.” His eyes flicked around to the weapons still trained on him. “Maker's Breath, I'm a bit nervous. Honored to be here, really.”

Solona sighed and held up a hand to her companions and the rest of the weapons were withdrawn, allowing Levi a bit of room to breathe. “I'll listen to your tale,” she offered, holding out her hand to guide him to the fire.

Levi cautiously moved through the camp and settled by the fire, warming his hands. Solona watched him warily as she joined him. Barkspawn sat between them. “After King Maric freed us from the Orlesians, the Grey Wardens begged the King's permission to come back into Ferelden. Some sort of internal business. Me and a mess of other Warden sympathizers spoke on behalf of order. Teyrn Loghain was very much against letting Orlesian Wardens in to the Kingdom, but Maric, Andraste bless him, was a fair minded Monarch and let them. So that's why I was there with the Wardens when their leader, Genevieve presented herself to the King. The first Wardens in Ferelden in over a century. Proudest day of me life that was. Duncan was a bit of a scamp back then. We were of an age, struck up a friendship. The King himself went with the Wardens on their mysterious business. When he returned, he rescinded King Arland's decree. The Wardens came back to Ferelden for good.”

Solona nodded as he finished his tale, a small smile on her face as she pictured a much younger Duncan. “Duncan was an easy man to like.”

Levi chuckled. “That he was.”

Solona had enough pleasantries and was interested in what sort of arrangement Duncan had made with this man. “So what sort of promise did me make to you?”

Levi flinched. “Well, my family has a bit of a stain on it's reputation. My great great grandmother, Sophia Dryden, was the last Warden Commander of Ferelden, back when the Wardens were known as freeloaders. So king Arland banished the Wardens and he took house Dryden's land and titles.”

“So, then what?” she asked.

“Hard to say. After King Arland died, there was a civil war, loads worse than this one. And our family was on the run, hunted by enemies with nary a friend in the world. But Drydens are tough. We rebuilt, became merchants. And we never lost our pride.” He said, his chest puffing out with said pride.

“So what did you ask of Duncan?” she wondered, hoping he would get to the point sooner or later as to what this had to do with her.

“I asked for the truth. My family reveres Sophia Dryden. We know she died at the old Grey Warden base, Soldier's Peak. We want evidence to clear her name. It won't restore our lands or our titles, but it'll restore our honor,” he explained.

“I've never heard of Soldier's Peak,” Alistair chimed in, a frown on his face at an unknown thing about the Wardens.

“Well, no one's been there since Arland's days... At least none that's come back,” he said cringing again. “I spent years mapping the maze of tunnels to the peak. And I found the way a few years back. So I went to Duncan, I did, and I said that he could reclaim the old base and my family could have it's honor.”

“So what do you need from me if you know the way?” she asked. There were more important things than reclaiming an old Warden base.

“I can pick my way through the tunnels at the base of Soldier's Peak, but the place... well, they say it's haunted, and it'll be dangerous for certain,” Levi said wringing his hands.

Alistair pulled on her arm to drag her closer and whisper in her ear. “There may be things hidden there that could be of use to us during the Blight.”

A chill ran down her back and the hair on her arms stood on end as his breath whispered across her neck. She nodded, resisting the urge to shudder and bite her lip. She instead returned her attention to Levi. “Your family's faith will be rewarded, Levi. We will help.”

Levi's face lit up at the formal statement. “A thousand blessings upon you, Warden. I'll mark down the location on your map. When you arrive, we'll pick our way through the tunnels together!”

They allowed Levi to spend the night in their camp and in the morning, he had disappeared before Solona woke.

 

If they met no resistance on the road, they should have been arriving in Redcliffe within a few hours. It was mid morning and Solona was strolling slowly down the King's road. Most of her companions were up ahead, while she trailed behind, her thoughts on the situation with Eamon and just how bad it might be when they arrived. As she fell into her own thoughts, setting one foot in front of the other automatically, she tuned out the road and everything else going on around her. She was jerked from her reverie not long after by a very nervous looking Alistair. He had grabbed her arm again, stopping her and then stepped in front of her. He glanced around, making certain the others hadn't noticed up ahead and then sighed. “Look, can we talk for a moment?”

Her stomach clenched and her heart flip flopped. Had she done or said something to offend him? She hugged herself defensively, her eyes shifting around, but never landing on him. “What's on your mind?” she asked, hoping it sounded casual as Bodhan and his cart trundled around them to continue on the road.

“Enchantment!” the boy, Sandal, cried excitedly, holding a rock in his hand that had begun to glow.

Alistair waited impatiently as they passed, unwilling to discuss whatever he had to say in front of anyone else. “I need to tell you something I uh... probably should have told you earlier.” He fidgeted with a flap of leather hanging from his gauntlet and refused to make eye contact with her. When she realized it might have nothing to do with her, she allowed her eyes to settle on his face. He was distressed, that much was clear. She unhooked one of her hands from where she was hugging her waist and waved it in a circle indicating that he should continue, adding an encouraging smile to the gesture. He sighed, but smiled back before a slew of words rushed from his lips like he had to push them out quickly or he wouldn't be able to finish. “I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in? The reason he did that was because, well, because my father was King Maric... Which made Cailan my half-brother, I suppose...” Alistair cringed as the confession fell from his mouth, his face going white as a sheet.

Solona felt her arms drop to her sides and her jaw follow along behind. Alistair was watching her closely as if he needed her to understand. When his eyes flicked away from her, depriving her of the icy blue intensity of them, she swallowed, picked up her jaw and snorted. “So... you're not just a bastard, but a _royal_ bastard...” Normal seemed the way to handle this shocking news.

His head shot up at the teasing in her voice. His own short 'HA' sucked the breath straight from her lungs. “Yes, I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often...” After a snicker, his shoulders slumped as she waited for him to catch his own breath and allow color to return to his pale cheeks. “I would have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me. I was _inconvenient_. A possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone.” He sighed. “Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it.” Suddenly Ostagar made a lot more sense to her. “I didn't want you to know as long as possible, I'm sorry.”

“I... I think I understand,” she said, shuffling her feet. He wanted to be known as more than just the King's Bastard. Oddly enough she knew how it felt to have your blood dictate your entire persona. To be judged before someone even knew you just because you were born as you were.

Another sigh escaped his throat and his hand reached out to squeeze her arm. It was a familiar gesture. One she had grown accustomed to in the last few days and it eased her racing heart. “Good. I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow.” His hand dropped and he offered her an awkward grin. “At any rate, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it.”

Another thought occurred to her then and she gasped and put her hand over her lips. “So you're heir to the throne, then?”

His eyes widened. “Maker's breath, I hope not! I'm the son of a commoner and a Grey Warden to boot. It was made very clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense. And that's fine by me! No, If there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle... and more importantly very popular with the people. Though if he's really as sick as we've heard... No, I don't want to think about that. I really don't... So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some... nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

Solona gazed into his pleading eyes and she could not help herself. He was not just some nobody. He was Alistair, and she liked him, no matter who his father was. “As you command... my prince.” She grinned at him, taking a short bow.

“Oh, lovely... I'm going to regret this, somehow. I just know it.” In spite of the sharp words and how he spun to stalk off, she had caught the parting smirk on his lips. She stood in awe as he walked down the road to catch the others, gathering her own wits back up. She really was unsure how she should be handling this bit of news. Realizing she was all alone, she sighed and jogged to catch up as well, her mind racing.

When they came upon Redcliffe, the Castle stood up the cliff to the left while the village was nestled down a long winding road to the right. A bridge over a waterfall served as the entry. Standing on the bridge was a single peasant, dressed in simple clothes with a bow strapped to his back. “Travelers!” the man gasped in awe as if he had never seen the like. “Have you come to help us?”

Solona frowned and pushed her way to the front of the pack. “What do you mean? Is there a problem?”

“You mean... you don't know? Has nobody out there heard?” the man asked, his voice rising in fear.

She glanced back at her people, her eyes falling on Alistair who was frowning. “We've heard the Arl was sick, if that's what you mean.”

“He could be dead for all we know. Nobody's heard from the castle in days. We're under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting... and dying.”

Morrigan let out an amused sigh. “Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is a perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really.”

The man eyed her suspiciously before addressing Solona again. “We have no army to defend us, no Arl and no King to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next.”

“Hold on,” Alistair said soothingly. “What is this evil that is attacking you?”

“I... I don't rightly know. I'm sorry. Nobody does,” the man confessed. “I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you.”

“Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?” Alistair asked with a bit of shock.

“Yes, it's not far. If you'll come with me...”

Solona and the others followed the man down the sloping hill that led to the village that was nestled right on the coast of Lake Calenhad. Solona shuddered as they got closer to the Lake. The scent of the water was all too familiar and she swore if she squinted, she could see Kinloch Hold far in the distance across the miles to the North. The man led them to the Chantry that had barricades set up out front in the Village square, where villagers had formed a militia and where they shot arrows from trembling bows into practice dummies. Solona skirted the line of fire and went inside. The Chantry was filled to capacity with the elderly, children, and women who had not the skills or the desire to fight. They were all huddled in corners and against bookshelves, praying or crying or talking in frightened whispering tones. The terror in the air was palpable and Solona could not help but feel for the people. The air had been similar in Lothering as they passed through. Fear was a common thing these days.

Toward the back of the Chantry near the altar stood a man in his mid 40's in much nicer clothes than most of the people huddled around and he carried both a sword and a shield bearing Redcliffe's crest. When the man approached him, he turned a smile to him and said, “Ah, Tomas, isn't it?” With a nod from the man, he continued, his gaze rolling to her and her people. “And who are these people with you? They are obviously not simple travelers.”

“They said they were here to see the Arl. I thought you might want to speak with them,” Tomas reported.

“Thank you, Tomas. Return to your post,” the man saluted and left the Chantry, presumably to return to his bridge. “I am Teagan. Bann of Rainesfere and brother to the Arl.”

Alistair stepped up beside Solona, bringing with him the scent of the road and the eerily familiar flapping of butterflies in her stomach that had begun to plague her in his presence. “I remember you Bann Teagan. Although the last time we met, I was much younger... and covered in mud.” He smirked amiably.

“Covered in mud?” The Bann frowned for a moment before his face brightened with a smile. “Alistair? It is you isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news.”

“Still alive, yes,” Alistair agreed bitterly. “Though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

“Indeed,” Teagan sighed. “Loghain would have us believe all of the Wardens died along with my nephew, among other things.”

“You don't believe Loghain's lies?” Solona asked, a shock of hope rushing into her gut to flutter around with the butterflies.

“That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Pfft, hardly,” Teagan said with bitter rage. At least Rainesfere was on their side. He shook his head and sighed. “If you're here to see my brother, I'm afraid that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. No one had heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls and no one has responded to my shouts. The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... things... surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault.”

“What kind of 'evil things' are you talking about?” Solona asked, her brain racing through her years and years of training. Demons? Abominations? Wraiths?

Teagan sighed. “Some call them the walking dead, decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh... They hit again the next night. Each night they come with greater numbers... With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends.”

Alistair fidgeted. “It isn't just up to me. Though the Grey Wardens don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon.” His eyes landed on Solona, pleading with her to help. This village was his home. These people his family. Did he think so little of her that he believed she would say no?

“Of course we'll help,” she said, dragging her gaze away from Alistair and back to Teagan who smiled briefly before faltering at Sten's disapproval.

“There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool's errand.” The Qunari growled in annoyance.

“If there's a chance to rescue the Arl, we have to try,” she snapped turning on him.

Something dangerous flashed across his features that made Barkspawn growl sharply. “Perhaps,” he conceeded, his snarl not completely fading.

“How pointless,” Morrigan said as well. “To help these people to fight and impossible battle. One would think we have enough to contend with elsewhere.”

Solona was about to argue the point again when Leliana spoke up. “We are already here, Morrigan. What is the harm in lending our aid to these people?”

Morrigan crossed her arms and continued to sneer. “Do as you wish.”

“Thank you! Thank you. This... means more to me than you can guess,” Teagan gushed, his grateful smile returning. “Now then, there is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of defense outside...”

As Teagan described who she needed to find, and where she could get supplies should she need them, she barely half listened as she shifted under Alistair's scrutiny. She glanced over casually to find him staring at her as though he had assumed she would have walked away under Sten or Morrigan's suggestion. Sure the Blight was a problem, but without Eamon they stood little chance of getting very far in Ferelden. She had recognized this early on and now that she was here, she believed it even more so. When she offered him a smile, he seemed to realize he was staring and his lips twitched slightly before he looked away. Solona sighed, a strange emptiness filling her gut as his blue eyes turned from her and to Teagan, offering her a nice view of his profile. It suddenly occurred to her just how much he actually did resemble the late King. His skin was more tanned and his hair a slightly darker blonde, but they had the same deep set eyes, the same sharp point to their nose and the same curve to their cheekbones. In spite of their age difference and the fact that they had different mothers, they could have been cut from the same mold. Alistair held himself differently however. The King had been proud and full of self satisfaction, whereas Alistair's chin dipped downwards and his shoulders slumped as if he preferred not to be noticed in spite of his outgoing personality.

When Teagan finished talking, she had been listening enough to know where she needed to go and who she needed to talk to. She assured him that she and her companions were up to the task and left him. On her way out of the Chantry, she managed to soothe a hysterical young girl who was worrying about her brother who had run off. Much to Morrigan's dismay, she offered to look for him while she was running errands and helping prepare the militia.

Outside, they were met by the gruff-voiced Mayor who went by the name Murdock. He seemed a friendly sort if a bit rough around the edges and he asked two tasks of her. One was to convince the blacksmith to stop drinking and assist with repairing the militia's weapons and armor, such as it be, and the second was to convince a dwarven mercenary that had taken up residence in the village to lend his considerable skills to the battle.

Solona set off with Alistair and Leliana to speak with the blacksmith and find Bevin. She sent Morrigan and Sten with Barkspawn to 'convince' Dwynn, the mercenary dwarf, to join the battle. The blacksmith went back to work after Solona made a promise to try and find his daughter who was a maid in the castle. She had asked the girl in the Chantry where she lived and when the issue at the smithy was settled, she headed directly for the small house near the docks. “What makes you think he'll be at the house?” Alistair asked. “Kaitlyn said she had looked everywhere.”

Solona smiled. “Frightened children head for things that are familiar. Kaitlyn was crying awfully loudly. Even if she looked at home, the boy obviously ran from her and the Chantry on purpose. He wasn't going to allow her to find him. He's likely hiding.”

They opened the front door and Solona pressed a finger to her lips for them to keep quiet. The house was small, a tiny entryway served as a sitting room. No where obvious to hide there. She moved further in to a bedroom just ahead and to the right. She purposefully took her staff from her back and tapped it to the floor. A short gasp from a nearby armoir drew her lips into a gentle smile. She held up a hand to keep the others back and placed her staff back in it's holster.

“Hello?” she said softly, moving toward the large cabinet. “Is someone in there?”

A frightened voice rose from inside the cabinet, threatening even as it cracked. “Go away. This is my home! You don't belong here!”

Solona knelt so her voice projected closer to his level. “Bevin, is that you? Your sister Kaitlyn is looking for you.”

“Did she send you to take me back to the Chantry? I'm not going! I hate it there. Everyone's scared and I want to be brave.” the muffled voice replied.

“Well, if you ask me, you can't be very brave from inside that closet,” Solona said soothingly.

A short time passed and there was a shuffling noise. “No. I suppose you're right. I heard you coming and hid. I thought you were my sister coming back.” The door creaked and the latch lifted. “I'm coming out.”

Solona stood and backed away to allow room for the cabinet to swing open. When he stepped out and stood before her looking up with wide eyes she cocked her head smiling at him. “Why did you run from your sister?”

He shuffled his feet and lowered his gaze, thin whisps of brown hair falling into his eyes as he blinked. “She tells me to be brave, but she is scared. She says not to be sad, but all she does is cry because mother died. I don't want to be scared. I want to be brave like father so I came here for...” he stopped talking, pressing his lips together.

Solona stepped forward again to kneel in front of the boy. “It's okay, you can tell me. I'm an excellent secret keeper.”

“I came to get father's sword. He said I could have it when I grew up. It was grandfather's, but I wasn't strong enough to lift it,” he said sadly, rubbing his own arms with shaking hands.

Solona smiled. “I know how you can help the village and stay back to protect your sister in the Chantry. Do you want to know how?”

He glanced up at her and nodded, his eyes wide and inquisitive. “O..okay.”

“You go on back to your sister and let her know you're safe. She misses you. Tell me where the sword is and I'll be sure that it gets into the hands of someone who is strong enough to wield it. That will help us defend the village tonight. Does that sound fair?” she asked him.

He fished in a pocket in his trousers and handed her a small key. “The sword is upstairs in a chest in mother's room. I'll go back to the Chantry. I promise.”

Solona took the key and thanked Bevin before he ran off. Upstairs, in the small bedroom, a chest sat at the foot of the bed. Solona took the key and opened it. Inside was a longsword tucked inside a scabbard. She lifted it from the chest and the hum of magic resonated across her palms. She glanced back at Alistair and grinned. “This will do nicely for you,” she said, offering him the enchanted blade.

“Me? But I have a sword...” she thrust the sword into his grip and she saw in his face the moment the magic caressed his skin. “Oh... I get it.”

“I'll have Sandal take a look at the runes when the night is over, but I think it might be a bit more effective than that Warden blade of yours,” she said.

He agreed and belted the scabbard on beside his other sword. “Let us go and see how the other's have fared, no?” Leliana said in a sing-song tone.

Solona nodded. “And then we'll need to see Ser Perth.”

They headed back toward the Chantry and met up with Sten, Morrigan and Barkspawn. The Mabari bounced up and down, jumping in circles as she approached, his tongue lolling from his mouth. “Parshaara,” Sten growled at the dog before addressing her. “We managed to uproot the dwarf from his residence.”

“Thank you,” Solona said, her eyes slipping to the dwarf in question who stood rather reluctantly in the middle of the barricades, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face.

“We also took the liberty or checking to see if the general store was open and we found it unlocked but there was nary a soul to guard it,” Morrigan explained. “There were several barrels full of lamp oil however that may come in handy should you ignite it at the choke point on the path from the castle by the windmill.”

“That's bloody brilliant,” Solona said with a grin. Morrigan simply pursed her lips. Solona led them back up the steep hill toward the cliff where the windmill sat. Teagan had said that was where she would find Ser Perth.

The Knight was overjoyed to learn of the lamp oil and hesitantly asked her for one more favor. He wanted her to ask the Revered Mother in the Chantry for Holy Protection for his men in the coming battle. Solona was unsure whether that was a feat she could accomplish, but she agreed to try. She left the others behind because she planned on fighting the the choke point herself. Alistair followed behind her instead of waiting, and she was glad for the company. He didn't speak to her, but just him being at her side made her less nervous for the coming night.

They spoke to the Revered Mother and Solona convinced her that even if it were not truly the Maker reaching out His hand to protect the knights, there was no harm in boosting their morale by offering them something. She finally relented and decided to give them some amulets blessed by the priests. She also stopped to talk to Bevin and Kaitlyn. She noticed the boy staring at the sword at Alistair's hip and she had to offer the woman something for the sword. She could almost feel Morrigan's sarcastic grunt of disapproval as she handed over five Sovereigns. Kaitlyn was beyond grateful and it made Solona feel good they hadn't simply taken the sword from the family.

Solona left the Chantry with Alistair and began the trek back up to the windmill. At the top of the first incline, she paused and huffed. “Sweet Maker, these hills are going to be the death of me.”

Alistair chuckled as she bent over, clutching the stitch in her side. Then he tossed his head toward the tavern nearby. “Come on. There is still some time until dark. Let's go in, get a drink, and catch our breath.”

Solona agreed. The others would never know. What was the harm? They climbed the short hill to the tavern and entered the small, dimly lit space. The atmosphere inside was a bit stifling. There was almost as much fear there as in the Chantry. At first glance all she saw were the men of the village, the militia, huddled in a corner, nursing mugs of ale. Alistair took her elbow and led her to a table near the back. They sat down and he ordered them both a pint. Solona was used to wine, if she even got that at the Circle, and the heady dark liquid nearly made her choke as she swallowed. Alistair grinned at her over his own mug. She set her mug down in front of her and traced the brim with her forefinger, tempted to ice the drink with a spurt of magic. The fact that it was warm had no doubt added to the bitterness. Instead, she dropped the side of her hand to the table and ticked her nails on the metal of the mug. “So you grew up here?” She could think of nothing else to say and to fill the silence, she said the first thing to come to mind. She regretted it even as it slipped from her tongue.

He smirked at her, setting down his own mug. “I believe we covered that topic already, Sol. I'd like to hear about you. I've noticed you ask a lot of questions, but you don't give a lot of answers. Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I guess I never really had much to tell. The mages in the Circle were all in the same boat as me. I'd been there since I was 6. Some of the others even longer. Short of our views on the Circle itself, there was not much else to discuss.”

“You were 6 when you started showing signs?” he asked in shock.

“If you call freezing my nanny because she took away my favorite doll 'showing signs', then yeah,” she admitted, hanging her head. “Luckily, the Kirkwall templars were able to thaw her out with no permanent damage done, but there was no question I was a mage.”

“Kirkwall? They have their own Circle. Why were you brought to Ferelden?” he asked with curiosity, not shying away from her as most people did after hearing the tale. For an ex-templar, Alistair was very accepting of mages. He reminded her of poor sweet Cullen.

“My father held a title in Kirkwall within the government. Kirkwall in particular is very strict when it comes to mages being kept where they 'belong'. The Chantry feared the little girl who froze her nanny would be given leniency to visit home and they couldn't have that, so I was dragged to Kinloch Hold where I was locked away. My parents never even visited me. I received a letter or two about news from the family, but they were always very cold. Eventually, they just stopped.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“That's just horrible. I'm so sorry,” he said, his hand twitching forward. She got the strange suspicion that he had meant to grab her hand, but instead he veered away and picked his mug up again to take a long gulp. She took her eyes off him momentarily, looking around the bar. That was when she noticed the solitary elf in the corner. When she narrowed her eyes, seeing his head swivel away from her direction, she sat forward again. “He's been watching us since we came in,” Alistair said softly, his voice barely a rumble.

The young red headed woman serving drinks came by the table to offer them food to go with their drinks, but instead Solona asked her about the elf. “His name's Berwick. He says he's waiting for his brother, but he seems a bit shady to me,” the woman whispered.

“How long has he been here?” Solona asked.

“Only a few weeks by my count. He arrived just before the trouble started,” she explained with a smile.

Solona allowed her to go and then stood up from her seat. Alistair grabbed her wrist. “Do you think it's a good idea to approach him?”

“I want to know what he's up to. If he tries anything, I'll freeze him.” She winked over her shoulder and Alistair let go of her wrist and sat back in his chair. She approached the elf and slid into the booth across his table with a grin.

“What do you want?” he asked bitterly, tensing as she eyed him closely.

“I hear you're Berwick...” she said, tapping her fingers on the wooden table.

“How'd you know that?” he asked in shock.

She shrugged. “I asked around. So, you're waiting for your brother?”

“My what?.. Oh yes. I am,” he said, gulping as he slipped up on his story.

She pursed her lips. “Sure... so what are you really doing here? And why were you watching me?”

The elf sighed, realizing he was caught. He lowered his voice and leaned over the table to talk. “I was hired by a man to watch the castle. I was supposed to watch for any changes and report back. Then the monsters started coming and now I'm stuck here.”

“Who hired you? What changes were you supposed to report?” she asked, her own voice low.

Alistair was watching intently, his hand very near his sword hilt. The elf offered her up a slip of paper. “It was Teyrn Loghain's right hand man. I thought I was serving the King.”

She read over the orders signed by Arl Rendon Howe. Another player in the game apparently. She looked up and asked, “Have you been serving in the militia?”

“Bann Teagan said we didn't have to...” he began to protest.

She narrowed her eyes. “You carry a bow. Are you any good with it?”

“Or course,” he admitted.

“Then I expect to see you on the field tonight,” she said, her threat silent as small bolts of lightning crackled in her hand.

The elf sighed. “I suppose you're right.”

“Good man,” she said standing and strolling away to show the orders to Alistair.

She leaned on the table as he read, his eyes narrowing as they flicked over the words. “So Loghain _was_ behind the Arl's illness.”

“So it would seem.” She heard the Chantry bells ringing loudly. “That's the fifth bell, it's getting late. We should get back up to the windmill and hand over these amulets.”

 

It was a long, hard fought battle. She and her companions had spent the first half of the night alongside Ser Perth and the rest of the Knights at the windmill fighting off flaming undead as they passed through the blazing barrier of burning lamp oil. It did make killing them that much easier. Soon, she was forced to leave Leliana and Morrigan behind as she took the others down to where the corpses had begun to attack from the lake. The smell was horrendous. If the burning flesh hadn't been bad enough, the soggy squish as Alistair's enchanted sword punched through one of the fiends at her back nearly made her loose her lunch. She was suddenly glad that they hadn't gotten anything to eat at the tavern.

She nearly ran out of mana several times during the night. By morning, she was spent and exhausted. By sunrise, there was barely any place left to step among all of the corpses, both old and new. She glanced around her at the carnage, trying as best she could to breathe around the putrid stench of sickly sweet death and the smell of fresh death consisting of loosed bowels and metallic blood. She stood in the middle of the barricades where more than a handful of the militia had actually survived with their help. She saw Morrigan and Leliana picking their way down from the hilltop, bloodied and likely as tired as she, but alive, with Ser Perth and most of his men behind them. She glanced back down at the ground around her, her chest tightening as she noticed the body of the Mayor, his throat slit and his arms and chest riddled with crescent shaped bite marks. She yelped as a hand fell on her shoulder. She spun to see Alistair, fixing her with a concerned stare. “Are you alright, Sol?”

“I uh..” she cleared her throat, hoping to mask the sick feeling in her gut, but the truth leaked out from her tongue. “No... I'm not.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed lightly and he flashed her a sad smile. “Try not to think of all of the ones we lost. Focus on how many we saved.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together and swallowing the tears threatening to slip down her cheeks. Barkspawn nudged her leg and began licking the gore from her armor. She pulled away from his tongue and knelt to scratch his head. “Good boy. You did good last night.” He barked appreciatively and his tongue lolled from his mouth, his stub of a tail wagging his whole backside.

Bann Teagan gathered the survivors from around the village and set some people to the grizzly task of collecting the bodies and wrapping them for burning. Then he held a small service on the Chantry steps, honoring those who gave their lives in defense of the city. Once the crowd had dispersed, going to begin cleaning up the village, Teagan asked them to meet him up by the windmill.

Solona stood at the bottom of the hill near the smithy and stared upwards toward the tavern. She felt someone approach and Alistair leaned in and whispered to her in a teasing tone. “You know, we could probably get Sten to carry you if you don't think your legs can make it.”

She reached back and punched his arm. “Shut up, you!” she said defensively.

He chuckled, rubbing his arm where she'd struck him. “Perhaps before meeting with Bann Teagan, we should get some breakfast in us. I'm sure everyone is hungry after the battle last night.”

In spite of her churning stomach and the smell still permeating the village, she had to admit that she was indeed quite famished. They sat in the tavern and had a pleasant meal with many of the relieved villagers. Bella, the waitress was in a particularly chipper mood, having been handed over the deed to the place after the owner Lloyd had been killed in the fighting. Solona really didn't blame her. From what she'd seen, the man had been a bastard.

After eating, they followed the incline back up to the windmill. Bann Teagan was standing near the edge of the cliff, staring out over the Lake to where the castle stood on the taller end of the cliff. “Odd how quiet the castle looks from here. You would think there was nobody inside at all.” he said as they approached. Solona cringed, thinking that could very well be the case. Who could tell if the Arl or his family had been among the attacking corpses? “But I should not delay things further. I had a plan to enter the castle after the village was secure. There is a secret entrance to the castle, accessible only to my family.”

Solona gasped. “Why didn't you mention this before?”

He sighed and lowered his eyes. “I knew if you had been told you would have chosen to enter the castle instead of staying in the village, and we needed warriors. I'm sorry if I...” before he could finish his sentence, his eyes lifted to apologize to her face, but they instead landed on something that made him gasp and point. “Maker's breath!”

Solona turned quickly her hand reaching for her staff to see what had him so shocked. Running down from the castle entrance she saw a woman dressed in a fine gown,escorted by a soldier. Her hair was done up in a bun, but it looked as if it hadn't been brushed or tended to for days. Wisps of hair fell down around her face. Her gown was well made, but also looked days old. Solona removed her hand from her staff as the woman approached them, panting from her run. “Teagan! Thank the Maker you yet live!” she said stopping before the Bann.

Her accent was thick and Orlesian. This had to be Eamon's wife. Judging from the stiffening of Alistair's shoulders, her assessment was correct. “Isolde! You're alive! how did you...? What has happened?” Teagan asked as she threw herself into his arms.

“I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And I... need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone...” the woman said, her eyes shifting suspiciously over Solona and her people.

“We are going to need more of an explanation than that,” Solona demanded, crossing her arms. Something was rubbing her wrong. Isolde was hiding something.

“What? I.. who is this woman, Teagan?” she demanded, glancing back and forth between Solona and Teagan.

Alistair sighed and stepped forward. “You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?”

The woman's expression turned sour and her voice followed. “Alistair? Of all the... why are _you_ here?”

Solona deepened her scowl as Teagan stepped in to defend them. “They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life.”

The woman stiffened her back and her hands came together before her in a proper Orlesian stance. “Pardon me, I... I would exchange pleasantries, but... considering the circumstances...”

“Please, Lady Isolde,” Alistair said, his tone mildly panicked. “We had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers!”

Isolde sighed. “I know you need more of an explanation, but I... don't know what is safe to tell.” Solona settled into a hip, her distrust of the Arlessa growing by the minute. “Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think... Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death.! You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!” Every time the woman said the Bann's name, Solona flinched, her accent grating further on her nerves as she attempted to exclude them.

“Is Arl Eamon still alive?” Solona asked.

“He is! He has been kept alive so far, thank the Maker.” the Arlessa answered, deigning to glance at Solona.

“ 'Kept alive'?” Teagan asked suspiciously. “Kept alive by what?”

“Whatever the mage unleashed. It has allowed Connor, Eamon and myself to live, so far. The others were not so fortunate. It has killed so many... and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village,” she explained, her careful control slipping as she spoke of the monsters. “It wants us to live, but I don't know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help.”

“Tell me about this mage you mentioned,” Solona asked softly. Why was there a mage in Redcliffe castle?

“He is an... infiltrator, I think... one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill.” Isolde explained, even that answer sounding cagey.

“Eamon was poisoned?” Teagan asked in shock.

“He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain's hired him. He may be lying, however, I cannot say.” The Alressa was now wringing her fingers together nervously.

Solona sighed. If no one else was going to ask, she was. “Why do I get the feeling you're not telling us everything?”

The short silence that followed would have allowed you to hear a pin drop. “I... I beg your pardon! That's a rather impertinent accusation!”

“Not if it's true,” Solona pointed out.

“An evil I cannot fathom holds my family hostage! I came for help! What more do you want from me?” Her head swiveled back to Teagan. “Teagan, I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it?! It could kill Connor! Please come back with me! Must I beg?”

Solona sighed. Not much more could be done. Teagan stepped forward. “The King is dead, and we need my brother now more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde.”

“Oh, thank the Maker. Bless you, Teagan! Bless you!” Isolde crooned.

“It seems we have little choice,” Solona growled, shifting her weight.

Teagan turned his attention on her and her people. “I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone. You, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable. Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you.”

“Please do not take too long. I will be by the bridge,” she agreed and turned to head back up the way she had come, her guard in tow.

“Here's what I propose,” Teagan said as soon as she was out of earshot. “I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle through the secret passage. My signet ring unlocks the door.” He took her hand and pressed the ring into her palm. “Perhaps I will... distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?”

Solona nodded, closing her fist around the ring. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, and anyone else... we're all expendable.”

Solona shook her head. “No I don't believe that. I'll rescue you all. I promise.”

A whimper escaped Alistair's throat as the words exited her mouth. “So we are just going to send him with that woman? It seems so dangerous,” Leliana said softly.

“I can delay no longer. Allow me to bid you farewell... and good luck,” Teagan said with a short bow.

Solona watched him jog off toward the castle and then turned to her people. “Alright, I'm not comfortable taking too many people into such a closed space. I will definitely need Alistair and Morrigan if we're going to be dealing with magic. Leliana, you are good with keeping things at a distance and Maker knows I don't want any of those corpses getting too close... Sten, grab Ser Perth and his men, wait a few minutes and then you and Barkspawn head up to the castle gates with the Knights. Once we've cleared out the passage, if we can, we'll let you in.” Everyone nodded and Solona took a deep breath. “Okay, let's go.”

 

Inside the windmill smelled of straw and damp. Solona circled the room, stomping her foot to find the trapdoor beneath the layer of straw under her boots. When she finally heard a hollow clunk toward the back of the mill, she knelt and brushed away the coating. Sure enough, there was a small door with a tiny divot in the center. Solona plunked the ring into the divot and turned. A light click told her that the door had unlocked as promised. She attempted to slip the ring onto her finger for safe keeping, but it slid right off. Instead, she handed it to Alistair who had gathered with the others. He took the ring and it fit him like a glove, then he pulled his gauntlet back into place and knelt to help her lift the heavy wooden trapdoor open. The hole was dark and she could scarce see the bottom. There was no ladder to be seen, so she called fire to her palm and spoke softly to the element, directing it down into the hole to light their way.

The hole was not as deep as it looked and she sat on the edge of the door. She lifted her arms and Alistair lowered her down feet first, holding onto her arms until her toes touched the bottom. Leliana was next, and Morrigan opted to transform herself into a raven and fly down rather than allow Alistair to touch her. A puff of purple smoke enveloped her as she changed back beside Solona. “You're going to need to teach me to do that,” Solona said as Alistair dropped himself down, his armor clanking noisily as he hit bottom.

Morrigan's eyes flicked up and down Solona before she said, “We shall see...”

They traveled down the darkened hallway until they reached a set of stairs leading upwards in a spiral. “This is the dungeons,” Alistair pointed out as they reached the top of the stairs. Through a door, she came to realize he was correct. There were rows of cells running along each side of the hall with iron bars for doors. She pulled her staff from her back as she spotted a group of three of the walking corpses gathered around a cell at the far end of the hall. That must have been where the mage responsible for poisoning Eamon was incarcerated. Solona whistled sharply, drawing the attention of the corpses away from the cell. Leliana had one down before it even turned and she and Morrigan each took one of the others as they shuffled down the hall towards them.

“Hello? Is someone out there?” A terrified voice rang out from the cell where the corspes had been congregated.

“You've got to be shitting me. The Maker has a sense of humor, at least,” Solona groaned, recognizing the voice immediately.

She strolled down the hall and stepped in front of the cell, crossing her arms to gaze in at her old friend. He was much worse for the wear. His robes had been cleaned up, only to get tattered and bloodied all over again. He had a black eye and he held his arm at a strange angle. His long black hair was matted to his skull, caked in blood and Maker knew what else. “By all that's holy... you! I can't believe it...” Jowan gasped, approaching the bars.

Solona took a cautious step backwards. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” she remarked, the words falling deadpan as she tried to hide what she was feeling. She still couldn't believe that her oldest friend was a blood mage, let alone what he had done here in Redcliffe.

“Maker's breath! How did you get here? I never thought I'd see you again... of all people,” Jowan said with a sigh.

“Jowan,” she said with her own sigh. “What have they done to you?”

He grimaced. “What they'd do to all traitors and would-be assassins. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd sent you to finish me off.”

“I'm not going to kill you, Jowan.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You might change your mind, once you hear,” he remarked solemnly. “I poisoned the Arl. For all I know, he's dead already.”

“He's not dead. At least not yet,” she assured him, going off of what Isolde had said to them.

“He's not?” Jowan let out a rush of breath he'd been holding. “That's a relief. I can't tell you how much. Please, I know how it seems. Poisoning the Arl was... a terrible thing. But I'm not behind everything else happening here, I swear!” he sighed and glanced up at her, his black eye swollen and forcing the lid almost closed. “Look before I say anything else, I need to ask you a question. You can do whatever you feel you need to afterward, but I need to know... What became of Lily? They didn't hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crimes...”

His tone pleaded for the truth, making Solona cringe and look away. “The Chantry sent her away. I don't know where,” she said honestly.

“Oh, my poor Lily,” Jowan wailed. “She must hate me now. If she even lives. What have I done?” he buried his face in his palms, whimpering at the movement of his injured arm. After a moment of self recrimination, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. “So, here we are again, the two of us. What happens now?”

“Are you responsible for what's happened here?” she asked. She needed to know exactly what his level of involvement was, short of poisoning the Arl.

“I... I know it looks suspicious but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began.” He insisted. To her surprise, she believed him. “At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men, demanding that I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the Arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe.” He began pacing in his cell. “She... had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they... left me to rot.”

One thing didn't sit with her. “Why did you poison Arl Eamon?” she asked softly.

“I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain. I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. All I wanted was to be able to return,” Jowan confessed. “But he abandoned me here, didn't he? Everything's fallen apart. I never thought it would end like this! Maker, I've made so many mistakes. I disappointed so many people...” As one of the disappointed, Solona felt a stab of pity reach up from her gut and wrap it's fist around her heart. “I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything right again.” His hands fell on the bars as he hung his head in shame.

“That's good to hear you say,” she sighed, stepping forward and slipping her fingers through the bars to lay comfortingly over his bloodied hands.

He sighed and looked up at her. “Well, it's a start, maybe. I don't know if anything I do could ever make it right.”

She brushed a tear gently from his injured cheek and asked. “So the Teyrn hired you to poison the Arl?”

“Connor had started to show... signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training,” Jowan explained.

Solona jumped, having almost forgotten her companions were even there as Alistair expressed his shock. “Connor, a mage? I can't believe it!”

Jowan continued as Solona pulled her hands from the bars and hugged herself. “She sought an apostate to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea.”

“Perhaps Connor is responsible for what happened...” Solona suggested, the thought disturbing her to the point of shuddering.

“I thought that, too,” Jowan said with a sigh. “Connor has little knowledge of magic, but he may have done something to tear open the veil. With the veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses.”

“How much magic did you teach Connor?” she wondered. It couldn't have been much. He had only escaped the tower a little over two weeks ago. Everything had happened so fast.

“Some. But he's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell, never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally. Like I said, he may have torn the veil accidentally. If he's involved in this at all. I really don't know.”

Solona nodded her head. “I understand.”

“The Arl's a decent man. I wondered how he could possibly be the threat Loghain said he was, but I did it anyway. I'm such a fool.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she snorted, surprised to find tears in her eyes.

“Mistakes like mine? I've just messed everything up. My entire life. I've made such bad decisions. I'm just sick of running away and hiding from what I've done. I'm going to try to fix it. Any way I can... We were friends once. I know I don't deserve to call you that, after what I did... if it ever meant anything, please... help me fix this.”

Her eyes narrowed and one of the tears slipped down her cheek. “I helped you once in the name of friendship...”

“And I betrayed you. And Lily. I'm sorry, so sorry!” his own tears joined hers. “Please, I'm begging you. Won't you help me try and do one thing right in my life?”

“I say this boy could still be of use to us. But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?” Morrigan added her opinion to the mix.

“Hey, hey! Let's not forget he's a blood mage. You can't just... set a blood mage free!” Alistair yelped.

“Better to slay him?” Morrigan argued. “Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?”

“I'd say it's common sense. We don't even know the whole story yet.”

Leliana's soft voice entered the squabble. “He wishes to redeem himself... Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?”

“Like yourself, you mean?” Morrigan asked, suspiciously.

Leliana scoffed and Solona heard her arms cross over her chest, the leather of her armor rustling. Solona had not bothered to turn around and allow them to see her tears. It was pointless. “Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes. This man no less than any.”

“He's your friend,” Alistair sighed, his hand finding her shoulder. “You know him best.”

“Give me a chance, please!” Jowan begged.

Solona cringed. It was times like these that she wished she hadn't been put in charge. She swallowed further tears and glanced around for keys to the cell. “I'm letting you out... for now.”

“You're letting me out? And what then?” he asked in shock. To their credit, none of her companions made a peep.

“You come with me. That's what...” she grunted, frustrated at being unable to see the keys anywhere nearby.

“I'm... not sure that's a good idea,” Jowan said, indicating his injuries. “I'd like to help out, but... I'm not so sure I want to follow you in to danger exactly.”

“Beggers can't be choosers, Jowan. Come with me or stay there...” she sighed, rubbing her eyes and giving up on the keys.

“Then I'll stay here for now, I think...” He sighed as well. “Good luck.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin and utterly un-amused smile. “I'll try and find some way for you to help, Jowan. I promise.”

She spun on her heel and quickly left sight of the cells where she could breathe a bit easier. “Are you all right?” Alistair whispered from just behind her.

“Fine,” she snapped a little more bitterly than he deserved. Jowan being the one behind this made things a little more complicated. She had seen the man use blood magic with her own two eyes, but somehow, she still believed him when he said this had not been his doing. What a mess.

They followed the dungeons and the basement, making their way through to a section of the castle near the bowels where the kitchen stood. Solona was thorough, making certain that they checked every room for the undead. In one of the larders, she found the terrified, but alive, smith's daughter. Valena hurried off toward the exit in the mill with the directions Solona gave her. At least that was one person she could save. They pressed on through the kitchens, to the soldiers barracks, and then they were outside again. Alistair informed her that it was the castle's main courtyard and Solona took in the surroundings. There were undead swarming the area, and she saw the gate lever not far from the main gate. On the far side of the courtyard, Solona gasped at what she saw.

“That's a Revenant!” She identified the heavily armored creature with the large sword and shield. A heavy chain dangled from it's hip as it caught sight of them with it's helmed head. Even without seeing it's face, she could feel the giddy sneer that passed over it's features as it identified them as prey. “Scatter!” she shouted as it took hold of the chain and began to swing it like a lasso. She darted to her left, her goal the gate lever so she could let in Sten and the Knights. She heard the others engage the undead and she ran as fast as she could. A deep bellowing laugh taunted her as the Revenant's eyes followed her across the field. She grasped the lever tightly just as the massive chain wrapped itself around her like a whip. The Revenant yanked her off her feet, pulling her closer to it. Sheer luck made her keep hold of the lever. Her arm wrenched as the lever jerked downwards, opening the gate to allow passage for the reinforcements. She cried out in pain as the joint popped out of place. The chain carried her half way across the field, depositing her with a heavy thump on her back. The air rushed from her lungs and she lay dazed in the middle of the field, attempting to relearn the basics of breathing. She knew she had to get up, but it seemed an impossible task. She gasped in as much air as she could and rolled to her left, her right arm dangling uselessly from her shoulder. She threw up a pathetic barrier, just as the Revenant swung it's heavy rusted sword down toward her neck. The impact shattered the barrier. One more swing at it would be the end of her. Heavy footfalls came running from the gate and Sten appeared above her. With a roar, he slashed upwards with his giant two-handed greatsword, The blade slashed through the Revenant's shabby armor, leaving a wide gash diagonally across it's abdomen and chest. It backed away, clutching it's side and dropping it's sword. With another swing, he cleaved it's head from it's body. The Revenant dropped like a sack with a loud clattering of armor and chains.

Sten looked down at her and with a nod, she shooed him off to help the others. She dragged herself to a nearby fence post, to regain her breath, leaning her back heavily on the wood. Her vision swam momentarily, but she managed to gulp in more air and keep from passing out. Her staff had jammed itself into her back when she'd landed on top of it. There was definitely going to be a bruise there. The sounds of fighting slowly ebbed and she dropped her head backwards to rest in the fence post. Predictably, Alistair was the first one by her side. “Sol! Are you alright?” He knelt beside her, his blue eyes probing her thoroughly.

“I will be. My arm. It's out of the socket,” she breathed, the offending arm throbbing. Her fingers tingled uselessly, as she tried to ball her fist.

“I can pop it back in, but it's going to hurt. A lot,” he warned, gently moving to take hold of her shoulder and probe for the injury.

She hissed as his hands landed on her, pain jutting up her neck and down her side. He apologized, pulling away and nervously biting his lip. “No... I need your help. Just do it, Alistair.” She reached out and pulled his hands back with her good arm.

After a moment of studying her closely, he sighed and laid his hands back on her shoulder. She cringed, but bore through the pain. Barkspawn had trotted up to join them and he sat by her side, whimpering. “Here,” Leliana handed Alistair a bit of leather that she ripped from a spare belt she kept in her pack.

He smiled gently. “Open up.”

Solona opened her mouth and allowed him to place the leather between her teeth and then she nodded. He placed his hands back on her shoulder and had her sit forward. He swiftly wrenched her arm out and then backwards. She felt the bone grind together as the muscles fell back into place. The sharp stabbing pain had her gritting her teeth around the makeshift mouth guard. She whimpered right alongside Barkspawn, but Alistair was swift and accurate. Her shoulder still pained her, but the tingling in her fingers slowly dissipated. “Thanks,” she breathed, spitting the leather strip onto the ground beside her.

“That's what I'm here for,” he said with a grin, standing and offering her a hand up.

“I thought you were here to 'deliver unpleasant news and witty one liners',” she joked, remembering back to their conversation on the morning she'd woken up from her nightmare.

She took his offered hand and he pulled her to her feet. “I have other uses,” he shrugged. Was that innuendo in his voice?

“Which remain to be seen,” Morrigan quipped.

“Come on, we need to get inside,” Solona sighed, shrugging off the tightening of her gut.

They climbed the tall stairs to the main entrance to the castle and the knights pushed the huge double doors open. The entryway was eerily quiet, but she heard the giggling of a child up ahead. In the main hall, A small handful of guards, Isolde, and a young boy who Solona assumed was Connor, stood watching Bann Teagan make an utter ass of himself. He was somersaulting and dancing around like a court jester. The boy jumped up and down, clapping his hands and laughing. Isolde stood at his side, her shoulders slumped and a sad and terrified expression painted on her face. Teagan finished with a flourish and as the boy's eyes flicked to their new guests, Teagan's face went slack and he shuffled up to sit on the floor beside the boy. As Solona boldly approached the dais, Connor began to speak in a baritone that had no right to be coming from a boy so young. “So these are our visitors. The ones you told me about, mother?”

“Y-yes, Connor,” Isolde said, her eyes remaining vacant and fearful.

“And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?” the boy said, his eyes falling directly on Solona. Her blood flashed cold through her veins at the scrutiny.

“Yes,” Isolde repeated.

“And now it's staring at me... What is it, mother? I can't see it well enough,” the boy asked, glancing away from Solona to address his mother.

“This... this is a woman, Connor. Just as I am,” Isolde explained.

“You lie! This woman is nothing at all like you. Why just look at her... Half your age, and pretty too... I'm surprised you don't order her executed in a fit of jealousy,” the boy snapped hatefully.

“Connor!” Isolde begged, turning to him. “I beg you, don't hurt anyone.”

The boy lifted his hand and began to rub his forehead. When he looked back up, he was changed. The evil no longer stood stark in his eyes and his voice was softer. “M-mother?” He shook his head like you would shake off a dream. “Wh-what's happening? Where am I?”

Isolde fell to her knees. “Oh, thank the Maker! Connor!” The boy buried his face in his hands again. “Connor can you hear me?”

“Get away from me fool woman!” the other growled as he dropped his hands and spun to scold her. “You are beginning to bore me!”

Isolde stood quickly and backed away, her jaw lax in terror. “Grey Warden, please,” Isolde said, turning to Solona. “Don't hurt my son. He is not responsible for what he does.”

That much was clear. The boy was possessed. “So you've been protecting him this entire time?”

“Connor didn't mean to do this! It was that mage! The one who poisoned Eamon! He started all this!” she ranted. “He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to protect his father.”

“And made a deal with the demon to do so,” Morrigan sighed. “Foolish child.”

“It was a _fair_ deal!” the demon boy insisted. “Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world. Nobody tells me what to do anymore!”

Nobody tells him what to do!” Teagan sputtered, his voice loud and taunting. “Noooobody!”

“Quiet, uncle! I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes I did!” the boy growled. “But lets keep things civil... This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman... what have you come here for?”

Solona tried not to flinch under the demon's gaze. “I came here to help,” she said simply.

“To help me? To help father? To help yourself? Which?” it demanded sharply.

“To help the Arl, of course,” Solona shrugged, her shoulder complaining at the gesture.

“So, you're a concerned well-wisher. Why didn't you say that in the first place? All this sneaking around and killing is so unnecessary! But father is so very ill. We really shouldn't disturb him. Isn't that right, Mother?”

“I... I don't think...” Isolde began.

“Of course you don't! Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun! Frankly, it's getting dull!” Connor shouted. “I crave excitement! And action! This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village! And now, she'll repay me!” Connor turned and ran off as Teagan stood and drew his weapon, along with the other guards that had stood around.

“Don't kill anyone!” Solona shouted as they were attacked.

She pulled her staff and began to use it as a mundane stick, beating off her attackers. With the help of Ser Perth and his men, they easily incapacitated the guards and the Bann. When it was all over, Isolde rushed from the corner where she had hidden and leaned over to help Teagan to his feet. The man seemed dazed, but he had regained control of his own mind. “Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself, had you died. Not after I brought you here. What a fool I am!” Isolde wailed. “Please!” she turned to Solona and pleaded. “Connor's not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!”

Solona shook her head in horror. “I'm not about to kill a child!”

“Clearly, the child is an abomination. There is... only one way to stop him,” Morrigan said, her tone compassionate as Solona had never heard from her before.

“He is not always the demon you saw,” Isolde insisted. “Connor is still inside him and sometimes he breaks through. Please, I just want to protect him.”

“Isn't that what started this?” Teagan snapped angrily. “You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret to protect him.”

“If they discovered Connor had magic, they'd take him away!” Isolde whined. “I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then...”

Solona scoffed. “So you had no idea the mage you hired was an assassin?”

“No! I trusted Loghain!” Isolde said in defense of her actions. “Why wouldn't I? How could I have suspected the mage he sent would be a murderer?”

“And Eamon knew nothing of your plans?” Teagan asked in disbelief. “Do you not realize what you've done, Isolde?”

“I hired the man to do the right thing! I was not going to lose my son! Not to... to _magic_!” she spat.

Solona sighed. “And now you may lose him anyway... And so much more.”

“No! No please. There must be another way!” Isolde begged. “There must be something we can do.”

“What are our options?” Solona sighed, opening the floor to any suggestions from anyone. She was not even considering killing Connor, but something had to be done.

“I wouldn't normally suggest slaying a child,” Alistair said, his tone soft and sad. “But... he's an abomination. I'm not sure there's any choice.”

“No!” Isolde cried. “What... what about the mage? He could know something of this demon... If he still lives, we could speak to him!”

“He's down in the dungeons, still alive,” Solona agreed. Perhaps Jowan might have answers in his blood magic that she knew nothing of.

“Then we should bring him here, immediately!” Isolde cried. “I... I do not know how much we can trust him... but we must find out what he knows. Teagan, could you find him?”

“I... will try, though if he resists, I will not hesitate to kill him. I'll return shortly.”

While Teagan was gone, fetching Jowan, Solona and the others helped Ser Perth and his men move the unconscious guards out of the middle of the floor. “You're lucky to be alive, Jowan.” Isolde spat as soon as he stepped up beside Solona. “After all you've done.”

“I didn't summon any demon, Lady Isolde,” Jowan said again, just as he had from his cell. Hanging his head, he continued. “But I did poison the Arl, and that started all this. I'm willing to help if you'll let me.” He sighed and turned to Solona, his tired eyes meeting hers. “The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed. Killing Connor is... the easiest way to do that, certainly. But there is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade without hurting Connor himself.”

Solona perked up. Why hadn't she thought of that? She needed sleep. It had been more than 24 hours since she'd gotten the chance. Her mind was foggy. “What do you mean? Is the demon not within Connor?” Teagan asked hopefully.

“No. Not physically,” Jowan confirmed and Solona breathed a sigh of relief. They would not need to slay the boy. She had faced the same situation during her Harrowing. “The demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon.”

“You can enter the Fade, then?” Isolde asked, her voice high with hope. “And kill the demon without hurting my boy?”

“No, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires Lyrium and... and several mages, but I have... blood magic.”

Solona cringed as Jowan dropped that bomb on the room. “I really don't like that option, Jowan.”

“Lyrium provides the power for the ritual, but I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of it, however. All of it, in fact,” he confessed.

She gasped, right along with everyone else present. “So, someone must die?” Teagan asked, with dread. “Someone must be sacrificed?”

“Yes. And then we send another mage into the Fade. I can't enter because I'm doing the ritual...” he paused and scoffed. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It's really not much of an option.”

Solona stopped him right there. “Isn't there any other way?” They hadn't used blood magic for her Harrowing after all.

“Not without Lyrium and more mages,” Jowan said with a shrug.

“You can find those things at the Circle of Magi,” Alistair pointed out.

“The Tower is but a day's journey across the Lake,” Teagan agreed.

“One of the treaties is for the mages, anyhow...” Alistair sounded hopeful.

“But what will happen here?” Isolde worried, her hands wringing with fear. “Connor will not remain passive forever.”

“I will take that chance!” Solona said before any more objections could be thrown into the mix.

“Very well,” Teagan agreed. “I will keep Jowan here as a precaution. He says he wants to help, so he will keep an eye on Connor with us. Go to the tower quickly then. The longer you are away, the greater the chances of disaster.”

 


	5. The Circle Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A homecoming Solona could have went without.

After a short debate, Solona decided to leave with only two others. Bringing Morrigan to the tower was a terrible idea, and Sten was grumbling about the delay in fighting the Darkspawn, even if they were going to the tower to kill two birds with one stone. They were going there to simply speak with Irving and gain aid. They shouldn't need him or Barkspawn.

That was how Solona found herself in a small two man rowboat, floating across lake Calenhad as the day flitted away into darkness. She stared off into nothing as her tired mind attempted to keep awake on the rocking surface of the water. Leliana's boat sped ahead, only carrying her. She and Alistair lagged behind. As she attempted to keep awake, she could feel his eyes on her. Suddenly, her head jerked up from where it had been lolling when he spoke. “You know, this might not be the best time to be thinking about this, but I had a favor to ask you.”

“Hmm?” she asked softly, blinking slowly and focusing on his face.

“Chances are, we'll be heading to Denerim soon and there's someone I'd like to look up,” he said, his face flushing.

“A former lover?” she asked mockingly at the reddening of his cheeks.

He gasped and snorted at the same time, the noise miraculous in it's making as he sputtered. “A former what? No! Do you honestly think I would suggest we go see... together? No!” The reddening deepened. He took a deep breath and with his face and the tips of his ears still flushed he said, “The thing is, I have a sister. A half sister. I told you about my mother, right? She was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she had a daughter... only I never knew about her. I don't think she knew about me, either. They kept my birth a secret, after all. But after I became a Grey Warden, I did some checking and... well, I found out she's still alive. In Denerim.”

“Have you contacted her?” Solona asked, no longer sleepy, but interested in the new revelation.

“No,” he sighed. “I thought about writing her, but I never did. And then we were called down to Ostagar, and I never got the chance... She's the only real family I have left. The only family not also mixed up in the whole 'royal thing'. I've just been thinking... that maybe it's time I went to see her. With the Blight coming and everything, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her. Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don't know.”

Solona called a small trace of mana as the moon refused to peek out from behind the clouds hovering in the sky. She slipped the magic into her staff to light the small crystal at the top to allow her to see better. He watched her closely, waiting patiently for her answer. “I'm sure we'll have time to pay her a short visit.”

“Could we?” He asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The shadow from the magelight casting a sharpness to his features that was not present in the daylight. “I'd appreciate that. If something happened to her and I never went to at least see her, I don't know if I could forgive myself.” He paused and glanced out over the lake. “Her name is Goldanna. I think she remarried, but still lives just out side the Alienage. If we're in the area, well then... It's worth a look.”

Solona agreed, storing the information for later. His reaction to her question about it being a former lover had her curious though. Her tone slipped to a curious tease. “So, being raised in the Chantry, have you never...?” She bit her lip, unable to broach the subject by actually saying the words out loud.

He glanced back at her, his own tone lightening “Never...? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?”

“You know what I mean,” she sighed.

“I'm not sure I do. Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?” he taunted, making her own cheeks flush.

“Now you're just making fun of me,” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought!” His brows rose and he grinned. “Well, tell me... Have _you_ ever 'licked a lamppost in winter'?” he asked, obviously knowing exactly what she was asking and turning her own question back on her.

“Why yes, I've licked a lamppost in winter,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “Just the once? And you didn't lose half your tongue in the process? I'm impressed.” She snorted as he wiggled his brows. “I myself have never had the _pleasure._ Not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but... you know.” His teasing faded as he confessed his virginity, his ears reddening again.

“You've never had the opportunity?” she guessed.

“Well, living in the Chantry, is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys.” She could tell from his tone he was flustered. “They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?”

She jerked from her slouching position, her back straightening. “You think I'm beautiful?”

He cleared his throat. “I... did I say beautiful? I didn't mean... Andraste...” It was her turn to blush, the temperature on the rowboat suddenly much warmer than she'd thought. “Perhaps we should find a new topic, lest your risque talk make my ears blush,” he suggested. She felt like there might be a need in the future to return the compliment, but just then she was perfectly willing to drop it. Had he meant he found her beautiful or was it a generalization? Had he been teasing? She knew that she had caught herself more than once enjoying the view with him in it. Those were thoughts for another time.

 

She managed maybe an hour nap in the boat as they rowed to Kinloch Hold. Alistair woke her with a gentle shake of her shoulder that had stiffened with sedation and the moisture of the lake. She cringed and rolled the offending joint, attempting to loosen the muscle. “Ow,” she complained.

Leliana awaited them on the shore, humming quietly to herself as was her usual strategy. Her songs and her stories brought Solona a light heart whenever she indulged them. Her voice was strong and melodious, just as a bard's should be. Leliana had confessed her past, letting Solona know that she had learned her fighting skills long before she had entered the Chantry. Solona was very grateful that Leliana had decided to join them. She was such a sweet girl, but she was hiding something.

Solona glanced up at the massive tower before them and shuddered. She had not thought to return here so soon. She had been grateful to leave and begin her new life fresh as a Grey Warden. Now she was back to beg help for not only the Blight, but for a little boy's life. As she studied the darkened tower, she realized that there were not nearly enough templars roaming the grounds. “Something is wrong,” she said with a frown.

“Perhaps we should go inside and see what the trouble is,” Leliana suggested.

“Not like we have much choice,” Alistair agreed.

Solona suddenly wished she had brought more of her companions with her. She was feeling strange magic floating from the tower. A dark sticky feeling that was like nothing she had ever felt before. What in the Maker's name had happened? They climbed the front stairs to the hold's entrance and opened the doors to admit themselves to the wide open entryway. There should have been templars guarding the outside. The entry was packed with injured templars, the quartermaster and other soldiers milling about. Greagoir stood among the chaos, barking orders. “Maker...” Solona whispered, taking in the scene before her.

The massive great doors leading further into the tower were barred and guarded. Alistair was quick to point that out as they approached Greagoir. “They've barred the doors. Are they keeping people out or in?”

A templar in the corner cried out in pain about his wounds as a medic attempted to bandage the scorched flesh. Greagoir turned and glanced at her, the recognition dawning on his features. Then he scowled. “We are in no state to entertain today. What are you doing back here?”

“What happened here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shortly after the survivors from Ostagar returned, everything went bad. Abominations and demons stalk the halls. The templars are stretched thin trying to contain the situation. I've called for the Rite of Annulment, now we wait and pray.”

“The Rite of Annulment!?” Solona gasped stepping forward. “Surely not everyone is lost. The mages are not helpless.”

“I do not have enough men. It is too much to hope for survivors and find....” He sighed. “I have no other options.”

Without a second thought, Solona squared her shoulders. “Let me look for survivors.”

“You must be joking. After everything you've done? Don't think I don't remember your role in Jowan's escape?” he spat.

“I had nothing to do with this! What about Irving and the other senior mages. They can't all be dead. There were children in there!” she raged.

Greagoir sneered, his eyes flicking over her. “You sound like Irving...” He paused as if the decision was paining him to make. “Fine. If you wish to commit suicide, by all means. I have little choice without reinforcements from Denerim. Go play the hero. If you manage to be successful, I might be grateful enough to pledge my templars to your cause. I warn you, though. I will open the doors for no one unless the First Enchanter himself stands before me and tells me it is safe.”

“Then I know who I need to find,” she sighed. “Let us in.”

Leliana's soft voice whispered around them as she prepared her bardic arts, enchanting her arrows and laying a light feeling of confidence over them. They approached the great doors and the two templars guarding them lifted the thick wooden bar to allow them entry. Solona had expected to be attacked almost as soon as the doors opened. Somehow, the dead silence of the hallway was worse. The templars slammed the doors shut behind them and she winced as the loud bang echoed off the high ceilings and stone walls. Their footsteps echoed almost as loudly in Solona's imagination as they crept past the apprentice dormitories where she had spent most of her life. She glanced in the large rooms as they made their way by the doors. Several of the bunks were overturned or askew, trunks and personal belongings were scattered everywhere. The place was a mess.

She picked up the pace, trying to ignore the few bodies that she saw among the other debris. She had likely known those people and she didn't wish to be the one to identify them. She felt herself release her staff from it's holster and grip the wood tightly, a feeling of dread filling her chest and tightening around her heart. As much as she hated this place, she hadn't wished _this_ to happen. Past the dormitories she heard strange noises issuing from the common area where the door leading to the basement repository was held. Alistair nudged her arm and took off at a jog, his weapons in hand. She and Leliana were not far behind.

She rounded the corner into the common room and caught sight of a group of teenage and child apprentices hovered in the corner. Two mages and one senior enchanter stood, staves drawn, staring toward the doorway that led to the Library. The elderly senior enchanter swung her staff over her head and called ice down on the rage demon that was attempting to make its lava slug way past a barrier that glowed in the archway. It's arms flung upwards in agony as the spell reacted with it's form and it began to dissolve into a mist. When the threat had been neutralized the woman dropped her arms and Solona saw the barrier waver slightly.

When she turned to see who had come up behind them, Solona recognized her as Senior Enchanter Wynne. She had spoken with the woman days ago at Ostagar. “You!” the woman said with surprise. “Why have you returned? How did you get in? Are the templars attacking?”

Solona holstered her staff and held up her hands. “Don't worry, the Rite of Annulment hasn't arrived yet.”

Wynne visibly deflated, her arms going lax and her shoulders slumping. “So Greagoir did send for it, then...”

“Yes, which means we don't have much time. He allowed me to come in to search for survivors, but won't open the doors for anyone but Irving,” Solona explained.

Wynne glanced at her charges. “Allow me to come with you and we will find Irving together.”

Solona was more than grateful for another person at her back. “We must clear the tower, and save as many as we can.”

Wynne straightened her red robes and brushed her short white hair into a semblance of a tail. “Petra, Kinnon... stay here and watch the children. I will return as soon as I can.”

“But Wynne,” the woman, Petra, said softly, her hand finding Wynne's sholder. “You were so very hurt earlier. Are you sure you're all right? Perhaps I should come, too...”

Wynne smiled softly. “I will be fine. I need you here to help with the children.” Then she glanced at Solona. “Come. We shouldn't waste time.” Solona agreed and they all approached the barrier. Wynne sighed. “I am surprised I was able to keep this in place for so long.”

“Did it tire you out?” Solona asked, touching her hand to the barrier and receiving a jolt of mana for her trouble.

“I did what I had to to protect who I could... Step back.” Solona did as she was asked and Wynne twisted her fingers in a rapid motion. The barrier fell, the residual magic seeping across Solona's skin.

Past the barrier, the Library smelled of death and corruption. A fresh barrier came up behind them after they went through and Solona gripped her staff once more. More strange noises greeted them as they came to the door. Gutteral grunts and hissing as if a person's vocal chords had been twisted beyond recognition and then forced to speak. She laid her eyes on her first true abomination just inside the library's doors. It was tall and misshapen. It's upper body was bloated and gnarled, the skin a sickly color, as if it had been taken from the body and turned inside out before being put back on. Solona fought the urge to scream. It was horrible. When it noticed them, she dragged her wits back to herself and defended as it lunged for them. Alistair jumped to the front of the battle, his shield pushing the abomination back so she and the others weren't trapped in the bottleneck that was the doorway. She stepped into the Library and began testing spells on the twisted wreck and tried not to think that this thing had once been human. One of her fellow mages. How easy it was to lose yourself, it seemed.

She barely noticed two more abominations that were coming for them from the far end of the stacks of bookshelves, drawn by the fighting. Leliana unleashed one of her enchanted arrows that, like a homing beacon, sought the head on one then changed direction to smack into the other's chest. The first fell, it's brains seeping from the arrow's exit point and the other staggered backwards just as Wynne hit it with a glyph of paralysis. It stopped in it's tracks, opening the way for Alistair to lunge in and cleave it with his sword. Solona's spells proved too much for the first abomination and it fell, squealing as it's body writhed under her lightning. When she was satisfied that they were safe, she forced herself to approach the thing, hoping to gain some sort of knowledge of who it had been. Two thundering explosions behind her, drew her attention. Before she knew what was happening, she was being dragged to her feet and pulled into Alistair's embrace, his shield raising up between them and the abomination as it exploded into flames and gore. She huddled in his arms, as the flames licked at the shield. If he hadn't been fast enough, that would have been her face. She panicked for a moment, resting her forehead on his chest as she caught her breath. “You all right?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her body as he pulled away too soon.

“Um...” she pressed a hand to her chest and realized that she had dropped her staff. She knelt to collect it, glad to see it had not been scorched. “Yes. I think so. Okay, who knew that abominations exploded on death?” At the answering expressions, she sighed. “Anyone? No? Okay, let's make a note of that for future reference. I'm almost certain those won't be our last abominations.”

Her hands were trembling as they pushed ahead. Her assessment had not been wrong. Around every corner, it seemed there were more abominations and the occasional demon. They barely made it through the Library and up the stairs to the second floor with no less than seven abominations and two lava-made demons of rage. Solona was beginning to have flash backs to her Harrowing.

The stock room stood destroyed at the top of the stairs. Amazingly enough, Owain was very much still alive and tidying up, of all things. Wynne scolded him with a chuckle when he informed her he had encountered her barrier as he tried to leave and simply returned to the stockroom and it's 'familiarity'. When questioned, he revealed that Niall had come with some other mages to get the Litany of Adralla. “What is that?” Solona asked.

Wynne frowned. “The Litany protects the mind from being influenced by blood magic.”

“So blood magic is involved here?” Solona gasped.

“So it would seem. We should hurry...”

Owain wished them luck in a droll monotone and went back to his cleaning. Through the adjacent senior Library, they ran into the first humans in the tower so far. The mages attacked them blindly and Solona recognized the red cloud of magic that she had seen Jowan unleash in his escape. Blood magic indeed. She defended herself on instinct, lashing out with her staff. A wall of ice jutted from the ground between her party and their attackers. Two of the blood mages were skewered on contact, but the third was simply grazed. She fell to the ground, whimpering and clutching her side. Solona's ice wall fell and she stepped forward toward the woman. She knew her. “Katrina?”

The woman flinched as she was recognized. “Solona?.. Please, you must understand. You know what it is like here... the templars watching your every move... I just wanted to be free.”

Solona shook her head. “What you've done here... It's made things worse for mages everywhere, Kat. Not to mention all of the deaths...”

Katrina glanced around at her two dead companions and whimpered again. “I never meant for all of this.”

“I'm so sorry, Katrina.” Solona lifted her hand and dragged her mana from her chest as tears slipped from her eyes. She used the most painless spell she could think of, her spirit hands snapping the girl's neck. She fell like a sack of potatoes and Solona turned away, unable to look into her wide staring eyes. She swallowed the bile that tried to rise in her throat. She had killed so many since leaving the tower, but these were the first that were still human. “Let's go,” she choked, pushing past the others and forcing the tears down that threatened to cripple her resolve. Those mages were foolish. Foolish mages made for easy targets for demons.

More demons and more abominations littered the second floor as they pushed to get to Irving's office. The First Enchanter was predictably not there. “Look around. Maybe he left a clue to where he might be,” Leliana suggested.

Solona began rifling through the unlocked chest at the back of the room as Alistair took the desk. Wynne checked the bookshelves and Leliana shifted papers around on the long dining table on the other side of the room. As she checked for notes and other incriminating things, Solona came across a large leather bound tome. Strange symbols marked the cover, the pages yellowed and worn from age. She glanced around to see the others occupied and then opened the book. It was a collection of spells and ramblings of a very powerful mage. Her eyes flicked over the pages and she realized that it was a grimoire. She knew it was not Irving's, his handwriting was much different from the scratchings in this book. Many of the spells made no sense to her and she glanced around again. As no one was watching, she slipped her pack from her back and slid the tome inside. “Over here,” Alistair announced, making her jump.

She stood and joined him at the desk where he showed her ledger that Irving kept like a date book. Three days prior, there had been a meeting scheduled between him and some of the mages returning from Ostagar. “They must have been on the fourth floor,” Solona pointed out.

“Then we have our destination,” Wynne agreed.

Just across the hall from Irving's office was the twisting staircase that led to the third floor. They followed the outer ring of the floor, bypassing the battered furniture and broken barricades that blocked their way to the common room. The wide open hall was strangely quiet and once they made it a quarter of the way through, they found out why. The corpses on the ground suddenly got to their feet and attacked. Solona called her fire and burned the shambling things as best she could, used to dealing with the creatures because of Redcliffe. The door at the far end of the room crashed open and a floating pile of bones in a robe hovered in. Solona recognized the creature for what it was and also immediately knew why the dead were walking. Arcane Horrors were the result of the body of a dead mage being taken over by a demon of pride. They had strange abilities, one of which was to control the dead. She took her attention from the corpses and focused on the Horror. If they could take it down, the dead should follow. Her ice magic and her earth magic did nothing but make the demon angry. It turned it's attention fully on her while the others were distracted by the corpses advancing on them. She dug deep in her collection of spells and chose one that she was not keen on using. She had no time to change her mind. She held her palm before her, pulling the spirit energy from her mana and channeling it with a few words into her staff and then thrusting it outward toward the demon. The bolt of spirit energy slammed into it's chest and began pulsing. The Horror wailed as her mana tapped it's essence and began sapping it's health. She backed away as it writhed under the spell, wishing she had a shield. When the spell ran it's course and ate the demon alive, the final icing on the cake was the explosion of blood and gore that heaped damage on the enemies that surrounded the Horror. Bits of bone acted as shrapnel, lodging in the skulls and bodies of the dead within the radius of the blast.

As the rest of the corpses fell, the magic drained from them, Alistair lowered his sword. “Ew,” he commented, as Solona checked herself for any of the mess that might have made it to her. She was blessedly clean. “Remind me not to piss you off,” he chuckled.

Past the common room, they were set upon by a fresh kind of demon and some wild, possessed templars. In the first classroom where the templars were being held enthralled, she attempted to kill the demon first and break whatever hold she/it had on them. It did not work. Even after the demon was dead, the templars still came at them like rabid dogs. Solona felt horrible for each life she took. She had known these people, or at least seen them around. If she hadn't gone with Duncan... had she been there, maybe she could have helped prevent... She shook the thoughts from her mind. They still had much ahead of them.

Past the classrooms, they found the way up to the fourth floor guarded by an abomination and several more corpses. Oddly enough, there were a handful of tranquil milling about in the room as well, ignored by the demons. They killed the threats and left the tranquil to their business. The stairs spilled them into the hallway that skirted the templar's quarters. They followed the hall to the left and Solona attempted to ignore the piles of gore and flesh piled up in the corners and crawling up the walls. Alistair made a soft noise of disgust. “Is it me, or is it getting worse as we go up?”

“I don't want to think about it,” Solona shuddered.

“I am going to have nightmares for days,” Leliana commented softly.

“We must be getting close to the source if it is this bad,” Wynne said.

The next room belonged to a templar who was standing slack jawed and smiling before a vaguely woman shaped demon. It wore puffed out harem pants in slitted layers down it's legs. It's feet were bare and a bony protrusion stuck from it's lower back like a tail. No clothes to speak of covered it's voluptuous top. Golden tassels framed its pink nipples as it turned to gaze at them. Large wide horns stuck out from it's forehead twisting into a loop on both ends and a preternatural purple fire blazed at the back of it's head to serve as hair over it's lavender skin. It distracted it's thrall with an excuse about tucking in the children and then addressed Solona, it's hand rubbing down over it's breast. “You are intruding on a loving, intimate moment and I dislike disruptions,” it purred in a sultry voice.

Solona crossed her arms and sneered. “And I dislike demons.”

As it realized it was not going to capture her as it had the poor templar, it turned and whimpered in a terrified voice. “Help! There are bandits at the door! They're going to harm the children!”

The templar's glassy gaze fell on them and Solona cursed to herself as he drew his sword. “They will not get past me!”

The Holy Smite hit her before she could even draw her staff. She fell to her knees, her mana being sucked from her chest and leaving her hollow and spent. Bright white light flashed around her and her breath came ragged as the air in her lungs followed the mana. Her limbs went numb and she gasped, attempting to at least stay on her hands and knees. A fight raged around her as she struggled, trying to force her stupid fingers to grasp one of the Lyrium bottles attached to her belt. She felt slow and tired and her fingers could not grasp the cork to pull it from the bottle. “Shit, shit, shit...” a voice said from not far off. Strong arms gripped her and dragged her away from the fight. Alistair's face appeared before her. “Stay with me, Sol.” He snatched the bottle from her hands and uncorked it himself. He then tipped her head back and dumped the cool liquid down her throat.

“My hero,” she choked as she felt the rush of mana returning. Without more than a smirk in response, he returned to the fray to help the others. Solona watched, wishing she could help, but crippled by the templar.

Alistair took the man one on one, leading him off to the side while Wynne and Leliana worked together to take down the demon. Wynne's magic all seemed to stem from the Creation branch. She must have been a powerful healer. Solona had never really grasped the healing arts as well as most of the other branches. Wynne was quite useful. When Alistair spitted the templar, Solona cringed and he moved on to help with the demon. As the demon fell under the three of them. Solona moved to her knees and pushed herself to her feet swaying slightly. Wynne rushed to her side and as soon as her hands fell on Solona a warm rush of blue healing energy cascaded over her skin, bringing energy back to her limbs. “Are you all right?” Leliana asked with a frown. It was not every day you got to witness a templar using his Holy Smite to take down a mage. It must have been quite the sight.

“Fine,” Solona agreed. “Thank you, Wynne. Alistair...” she nodded to each of them. “I need a moment to completely replenish my mana. I can't risk another Lyrium potion.”

She paced back and forth, drawing energy from the charged air around her. The veil was very thin. How had she not noticed that before now? There was magic seeping all over the walls. No wonder those fleshy growths had begun to form. The Veil was bleeding. When she felt whole again, she sighed and nodded for them to continue. They were not far from the entrance to the Harrowing chamber, but the way was blocked by flesh and rubble. They would have to go through the middle of the tower and around.

She pushed open the door to the central spire and standing in the middle of the room was an abomination. It hovered over a mage on the ground, lying on his face. She recognized Niall. They had spoken briefly after her Harrowing. Owain had said he had the Litany of Adralla. Her eyes narrowed as the abomination spoke in a low gutteral voice. “Oh look... Visitors. I'd entertain you, but too much effort involved.” It spoke slowly as if it were bored or tired. She recognized sloth. She had encountered a similar being during her Harrowing. She hoped she wouldn't need to answer any riddles.

With her arms crossed, she said, “Killing demons is enough entertainment for me, thank you.” A deep yawn issued unbidden from her throat. She was so very tired. How long had it been since she'd slept now? Too long.

The abomination scoffed, a strange sound coming from it's throat. “Wouldn't you rather just lay down... and forget about all this? Leave it all behind?”

As her lids crept downwards, she heard Alistair mumble something about pinching him. Leliana whimpered. “I'll not listen to your lies, demon. You have no... power over me.”

“Resist!” Wynne's voice was so far away. “You must resist, else all is lost.”

“Why do you fight?” Sloth urged. “You deserve more... You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you.”

Solona blinked her heavy lids and the world faded around her. When she opened her eyes, she was where she was supposed to be. What had she been doing? She glanced down and saw she had fallen asleep on her knitting. How was she ever going to get the booties finished for Goldanna's newest child if she kept dozing off? “You were sleeping again, weren't you?” his teasing voice came from the kitchen. His footsteps as he approached echoed almost too loudly in the small hut. His arms wrapped around her and he leaned down to nuzzle her neck.

She leaned into him with a smile. “Knitting is so damned boring. Tell your sister to stop having children already.” He chuckled, his chest pressed against her back vibrating down her spine. She brushed the unfinished booties across the table and turned around on the bench to glance at her husband. His crooked grin and icy blue eyes gazed back at her in adoration. She took his hands and he pulled her up into his arms. She ran her fingers through his soft blonde hair and his lips brushed against hers. Before she could open her mouth to him, she heard hoof beats on the road outside. “Do you hear that?”

He groaned in frustration as she pulled away with a small laugh. “Can't we tell whoever it is to go away?”

“Now, now. Manners, Alistair,” she scolded, pulling on her cloak and checking that her staff was leaned up against the door frame, just in case. She stepped out into the cool air and spotted the visitor approaching.

“Duncan? What's he doing here?” Alistair asked, joining her out in the yard.

 _Good question,_ she thought as red flags began to jump into her mind. There was something off, here. She spindled some of her magic just in case and followed Alistair as he strolled up to meet Duncan as the man hopped from his horse. They exchanged a greeting and Duncan clapped Alistair on his shoulder. Why was Duncan's presence so disturbing? When his dark eyes fell on Solona, she fidgeted. “Ah, there you are! I was just stopping by on my way to Weisshaupt. I wanted to make sure you two were doing all right.”

“We've been very happy since eradicating the darkspawn,” Alistair said with a wide grin. “I even got some of those tomato plants to flower last week. Solona has taken up knitting,” he teased.

“I'm shite at it,” she mumbled, her eyes fixated on Duncan. She found herself stepping back as he approached her. Suddenly, the reason she was feeling strange hit her like a fist of the Maker spell, nearly grinding her into the ground. “You're supposed to be dead.”

Duncan and Alistair exchanged a glance and both their brows rose in question. “Me? Dead?” Duncan asked. “I've been very close many times, but no. I'm fairly certain I am still here.” He let out a loud guffaw that sealed the truth. The Duncan she knew, the real Duncan, most certainly didn't guffaw.

She stepped back again and glanced around. How had she not noticed how everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges? The blowing trees made no sound. She squinted, and Duncan and Alistair were both eyeing her with suspicion. “Don't you remember killing the Archdemon and setting the underground darkspawn lairs on fire? We're free, Sol. No responsibility...” Alistair said approaching her slowly, his hands beckoning.

Accepting him would be her doom. She was certain. As she shook the visions of the Fade from her mind, she began to remember how she got here. The Circle... The demon. It had trapped them in the Fade. She found that she was still backing away and shaking her head. “It seems only war and death will appease you,” Duncan growled, the false voice slipping into an unnatural growl.

Now instead of offering her his arms, his right hand was lifted and Alistair came at her, his hand replaced by sharp claws and his ice blue eyes glazing to black, the pupils taking over his entire eye. She unleashed the magic she had spindled, knocking them away from her so she could dash for her staff. I was probably the hardest fight she had faced to date. Snuffing the life from both Alistair and Duncan made her sick to her stomach. “Fucking demons,” she growled. As the guardians perished, she expected to be slung back into reality as she had when her Harrowing ended, but instead, she stood in the make believe yard and waited while nothing happened. Apparently those were not the only demons she would have to face. Off in the distance, she noticed a pinprick of light near the ground in the woods. She took off at a jog, hoping it was a portal that might take her somewhere useful.

A glyph glowed a brilliant white, surrounding an oddly warped pedestal. She approached the glyph and recognized it as a teleportation glyph. Those only worked in the Fade. At a loss for any other solution, she stepped inside the glyph. A map exploded in her mind Tiny pinpricks of light like a constellation marked destinations. They were set up below her island in a pentagonal array with three offshoots at the bottom and a central island, all four of which were dimmed. She focused on the closest island, the point of the pentagon and her stomach lurched.

She was dropped rather unceremoniously onto the new island, the map disappearing from her vision. _Add teleporting to the list of things I hate about the Fade_ , she thought. When she stood, she had her belongings back. Her Warden armor and her staff and backpack. She brushed herself off and moved forward to investigate the new area. It was not much more than a crossroads. To her right there was a shimmering, but she could not make out what it was. Ignoring it, she spotted a rather distressed fellow mage pacing not far from another of the teleportation pedestals. When he noticed her, he paused his pacing and frowned, as if trying to recall who she was. “I remember you,” he finally said. “The young mage who was conscripted.”

“Solona,” she reminded him. “I assume if you're here, the Sloth demon trapped you, too.”

“Yes. Good job escaping that trap,” he said, his tone exhausted. “I've been here for days with it feeding on me. It's so hard to focus, but I've had plenty of time to study the pedestals. There are other Dreamers on each of the five central islands, as well as each realm's guardian. Sloth lies at the center, but you can't reach him without defeating his generals.”

“That sounds like it might be easier said than done,” she said.

He nodded. “The islands are all guarded by not only demons and horrors, but there is a web of obstacles in your way. Doors which no key will fit, walls of fire blocking an exit, holes too small for a human, and other such nonsense. It is maddening.”

“Could my companions be on one of the other islands?” she asked.

“It is possible, but I doubt you'll be able to reach them,” he sighed.

She studied the man. His eyes were sunken and hollow, his back hunched and stiff. He had given up. She couldn't let herself become this. She had made it this far. She would continue for the sake of everything. Without her and Alistair, Ferelden was lost. The thought of Alistair made her swallow. Why had the demon chosen that particular 'happy ending' for her? What was going on in her subconscious? “You wait here. I'm going to take a look around,” she said with a sigh.

“Don't mind me,” Niall said drolly.

She left him to stare off into the void as she moved toward a portal that might lead to whatever entity she needed to defeat on this island. She scolded herself for being unprepared as she was attacked immediately on the other side of the portal by a rage demon. She fumbled a cone of cold that fanned out in front of her from her fingertips. The demon froze in place and she then struck it with a stonefist to shatter it to pieces. She breathed a sigh of relief and then noticed a squeaking below her. She spotted a mouse lying on it's side and breathing heavily. “Thank you! But... too late for me...” she knelt beside the talking mouse. “Kill Yevena, the demoness that rules here. She protects her master... Sloth... There's a door! A door only demons can see... the key must be in another realm... Take my power... save any others trapped in nightmares, kill the demons that guard Sloth. Make my...” his breath wheezed out and a swirl of magic lifted from his body. Solona felt the foreign power seep into her pores and settle in her chest.

Niall had mentioned holes too small for a human. She glanced around and at first noticed nothing. Then she spotted it. A tiny hole in the ground a few feet off. She stood and moved to the hole. Tapping into the foreign power, she felt her muscles begin to spasm and seize. In an instant, she was looking at the hole from a much closer viewpoint. Her nose twitched and she glanced down and noticed her tiny furry paws. She would have laughed, if it hadn't been such a strange feeling. She had to concentrate on the magic to keep it from unwraveling. She quickly slipped into the hole and burrowed through a long winding darkness. Her whiskers allowed her to find her way. When she finally spotted light at the end of the tunnel, she scurried faster and popped out of the hole on the far end. She had no idea where she was, but she was definitely in another section of the island. She sniffed and her tiny mouse nose told her that there were demons up ahead. She scurried along the edge of a trail that wound upwards, managing to bypass the demons that slithered along the path. She saw another portal ahead and scampered through.

She had made it back to Niall. She let go of the magic and a fluid transformation took place as she returned to her own skin. “You look different,” Niall said with a frown.

“I became a mouse,” she informed him.

“You did? Were you able to fit through the holes?” he asked excitedly.

“I was,” she confirmed.

“Perhaps there is hope after all,” he sighed.

“I need to defeat each of the demons that protect Sloth to reach it,” she said.

“Don't waste time with me then. Go!” he waved her off. The shimmering by the wall that she had noticed before suddenly made sense as she passed it again. It must have been the door only demons could see. Behind must be the demoness.

If the key was in another realm, then she needed to teleport again. She stepped up to the glyph and the map came to her again. The island she had started on had transformed from a white light to a rune. She assumed that meant she had completed what had needed to be done there. She decided to go in a circle around the map and focused on the next island clockwise from the one she was on.

She landed in a room that brought the Circle to mind. It was both like the Circle and not, things in places where they didn't belong. A table and chairs clung to the wall, book shelves hovered in mid air. Strange raw Lyrium nodes jutted from random corners. There was a lot of fire around the area. She now knew what Niall had been talking about. It blocked doorways and walkways, making traversing the realm into a very dangerous maze. She was attacked on a few occasions by men on fire. She kept her ice magic handy and with great effort managed to keep herself alive, even using the transformation power to escape through a hole when she was set upon by two burning Mabari hounds. When she finally came upon the dreamer of the realm in a large open room, he attacked her with rage, his own skin burning inside his templar armor. Giving him a beat down seemed to bring him to his senses for a moment. He glanced down at his burning chest as the flames sizzled out. “The anger... fading... Take Rhagos' power... use it to slay him. His lair lies beyond the unbreakable door... and now I wake.”

More of the foreign magic of the Fade settled beneath her skin as another teleport pedestal appeared. She moved around the room before approaching the pedestal, hoping to find a way forward but the unbreakable door was just that. Unbreakable. She sighed and went to the portal. On the next island down, she was met with more rooms that looked like the circle. This realm was littered with insane blood mages. After going through two rooms that looked eerily like the senior mages quarters and being attacked by several of the crazies, she dropped to her knees outside the room, her mana spent. One of the strange Lyrium nodes hummed beside her and she had an idea. She laid her palm on the closest crystal, knowing in the real world, such a feat would be fatal to a mage, but here she wasn't strictly poisoning herself. The Lyrium hummed louder, and her body absorbed it's magic. Her nerve endings lit up as the power looked for a place to go. She collapsed onto her back in a fit of giggles as the raw energy invigorated her and stuffed her core full of mana.”That's the good stuff,” she muttered to herself, breathing deep of her new energy.

She got to her feet and slipped through a doorway to be attacked by a priest and a servant wielding daggers. The next door after defeating her attackers was wreathed in flames. She reached inwards to the newest power she had received from the burning templar. Her body transformed as before. She was now ringed in her own wreath of flame on top of scorched skin, though she did not burn. The magic acted as a barrier, allowing her to pass directly through the wall of fire before her. Two demons of rage made themselves known almost immediately by throwing twin fireballs at her. She had no time to defend herself and flinched. The fireballs dissipated on the barrier, just as the other fire had. She kept the transfigurement in place as she battled the demons, two more appearing as the others fell. The exit door had more flames and she maintained the burning man facade to pass. More mages and more demons fought her every step through the replication of Kinloch Hold. When she reached the second floor, she found the dreamer of the tower, under attack from no less than three priests and two gigantic golems. Solona released the facade and called on her regular magic to draw some attention from the mage. He cried out for her help and she did everything she could. The golems were particularly difficult to take down. Fire and lightning seemed to damage them the most, so she used the spells she had at her disposal to effect them. When the final golem fell, the mage doubled over and sighed to catch his breath. “Thank you. It is time for this dream to come to an end. I give you my strength. It will be of little use against the demon that rules here, but perhaps it will help in other realms. Find a way to kill all of the demon Lords. Open a way to Sloth. Free us all from this nightmare!”

He took her hand and she collected another transformation. She suddenly realized how to get through the 'unbreakable' doors. Though a pedestal stood now in the room, she ignored it, pressing forward and up to the top of the tower. The demon was close. She could feel it. She followed the feeling through the maze of corridors and wound up in a large open room. The demon was nothing more than a lesser demon as far as she could tell. It didn't even speak to her. It simply attacked her. She flung up a barrier to stop it's claws from raking across her chest, then she swung her staff up to hit it in the jaw and knock it backwards. She trapped it in a crushing prison and it roared in anger as her magic closed in around it. It gave her the second she needed to call rock armor around her, making her skin like rock and protecting her from the claws. When the spell ended and it rushed her again, she ducked out of the way and slipped some ice into the mix. A winter's grasp spell slowed it from getting to her again, and as it turned, she called down a fist of the Maker to slam it into the ground. It moved as though it was going to get up again and she slammed it down again. The creature burst like a grape under the added pressure and she danced out of the way of the splattering blood.

When the pedestal appeared, she grinned and jogged over to it. The island she was on had turned into a rune, just as the other. A feeling washed over her as she glanced at all of the islands. Something made her skip directly to the island below the point of the pentagon instead of the next in the circle. It was a pattern in the two runes that she hoped panned out.

Another Circle reconstruction and another maze brought her to the dreamer of the island. She fought off spirits that were shaped roughly like Darkspawn, saving the soldier from death. “They're gone! You! You did it! You killed them. But not all. Their leaders are behind the unbreakable door. I give you my wisdom. It will let you see. And now I wake...”

As the dreamer disappeared, Solona saw a large door on the other side of the room. She drew on the power she had gotten from the mage and she grew large and strong. She was a golem! Who needed a key when you could rip a boulder from the ground around you and smash the door open with it? That is exactly what she did. A group of Darkspawn awaited her on the other side of the door and she used her new form to crush them into paste. It was invigorating. Through the courtyard ahead, she came upon another giant door and she smashed that one open as well. The demon behind the door had taken the form of an Ogre. It immediately aimed it's body for her and charged like a Bull, ramming into her gut and knocking her to the ground. She found herself unable to get back up. Reluctantly, she let go of the Golem form and replaced her rock armor. She got to her feet and ran, slinging spells behind her as the large cumbersome Ogre tried to keep up. Finally, one of her spells slowed it enough that she felt comfortable slowing down and gathering all of her energy to call a tempest down around them. Lightning crackled and charged the air, bolts striking left and right. A pile of rubble nearby had buried a large metal pike. She called upon her spirit hands and grabbed hold of the pike. She flung it at the Ogre with a grunt. It slammed into the beast's chest, turning it into a giant lightning rod. She backed away as all of the flashing bolts of mage lightning jumped directly into the pike and fried the Ogre.

She slumped, her magic spent, as the Ogre fell. She shuffled to one of the raw Lyrium nodes nearby. With just a touch, she was again invigorated. The pedestal appeared at the back of the room and she headed over to it. She began her circle anew, heading to the point of the pentagon where Niall still waited. When she shifted into the spirit form she had gained from the last dreamer, the shimmering door came into focus and she was able to pass through it like a ghost. On the other side, a few shades and one of the shapely desire demons. “Yeveena, I presume,” Solona remarked before igniting a firestorm around the three demons. She was finished with this maze of islands and nonsense. She wanted to find her friends and get out of here. She had a feeling that sleep would evade her for quite some time. The demons burned and Solona left, to bypass Niall's curious stare as she trudged by.

Thankfully, the pedestal dropped her back at the burning island exactly where she had left. She smashed open the door and stomped through the rest of the maze as a golem. The demon that ruled there was one of rage. She left the illusion of a golem and called as much of her ice to her fingertips as she could at a time. She was beginning to flag again. She needed a Lyrium vein. She glanced around, but there were none to be found. She gathered up everything she had left and painted a glyph in the air before her. She slipped small shards of ice through the glyph and the magic carried them like missiles into the demon. Steam issued from the demon as it roared. The shards burrowed beneath it's lava flesh and Solona prayed they would be enough to drop it. Luckily, the demon's skin began to shrivel and turn black just like magma as it cooled to form volcanic rock. Solona swung to top of her staff around and threw all of her strength into the blow. The rock shattered under the force and the pedestal appeared instantaneously.

The final island sat to the bottom of the pentagon and Solona teleported there, unsure of what to expect. She seemed to have gathered all of the powers available to travel where she needed to and something in her gut had warned her away from that island previously. In the long run. It was the smallest island she had faced, short of the one where Niall was. The puzzle was a bit more complex though, forcing her to change several times into all of her different forms. Finally, she came upon a desire demon who swiftly changed into a mouse and scampered off. “Catch me if you can, mortal. I know you want to,” her voice purred in Solona's mind.

Solona became a mouse, like it was second nature and hurried after the demoness. The demon was awaiting her at full size and Solona, instead of using her own form, flipped the magic inwards again and changed to her golem facade. The demon attempted to run, but Solona reached out her long arm and grabbed the thin demon around the waist. She pulled it to her and grabbed it's head in her other hand. With her magic born strength, she pulled and ripped the demon in two. She had completed the pentagon. She settled back into her own skin and sure enough the central island had begun to shine, inviting her to Sloth. The three islands below had also lit up. Could that be where Sloth had hidden her people? Her eyes flicked to the island nearest the one she was on and the teleport took her.

This island was miniscule. A small plot of land stood near the center. As she approached, she noticed a small house ripple into existence. Outside in the yard, several children were running and playing. A young woman was hanging linens on a line across the yard and then she spotted Alistair sitting on a short legged stool by the front of the house. She sighed in relief, taking into account that the woman with him was not her. It was a wrenching look into his perfect happily ever after. She was no where to be found.

When she approached the squat gate and opened it to step inside, Alistair nearly tripped over his own feet getting up to greet her. “Hey! It's great to see you again! I was just thinking about you... Isn't that a marvelous coincidence?” He ushered her to the woman and grinned widely. “This is my sister, Goldanna.” Then he gestured around the yard. “These are her children, and there's more about somewhere. We are one big happy family. At long last!”

Solona bit her lip and studied Alistair's face. The lines that had always been present on his forehead had smoothed and his smile made him look genuinely happy. “You seem very... content,” she said, cringing at having to rip this away from him. He may not see her in his future, but she certainly had seen him. The demon had revealed something in her that she had scarcely guessed for herself.

“I am!” he said, pulling her against his side in a half hug. “I'm happier than I've been my entire life. Isn't that strange? I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn't. This does.”

“I'm overjoyed to have my little brother back! I'll never let him out of my sight again,” the demon posing as Goldanna said with a smirk. It knew she was not supposed to be there and those words sounded like a threat.

Solona stared the demon down and said through gritted teeth. “May I borrow him for a second? We have business elsewhere.”

Alistair cringed. “I... don't think I'll be coming. I don't want to spend my life fighting only to end up dead in a pit along with rotting Darkspawn corpses.”

“Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?” the false Goldanna asked.

“Oh, say you'll stay! Goldanna's a great cook! Maybe she'll make her mince pie.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips jokingly. “You can, can't you?” He grabbed her hands and begged, his bottom lip coming out in a charming pout.

“Of course, little brother. Anything for you,” the demon crooned.

Solona gently pulled her hands from Alistair's grip and said, “I can't stay and you shouldn't either, Alistair.”

“You're acting really strangely,” Alistair said, his brows knitting together in a frown.

She took his hands back in hers. “Think about this and how you got here. Think really carefully...”

He smiled at her. “All right, if it makes you happy. I... it's a little fuzzy, that's strange.”

“Alistair, come and have some tea,” the demon said in an attempt to regain control over the situation.

“No... wait... I remember a... tower. the Circle... it was under attack.... There were demons. That's all I really remember,” Alistair said with a sigh.

She nodded and squeezed his hands. “Yes. That's where we got trapped in the Fade. Where we are now.”

“A-are you saying... this is a-a dream? But it's so real...” he said, shaking his head.

“Of course it's real! Now wash up before supper and I...” Goldanna began.

Alistair cut her off. “Something doesn't feel quite right here. I... think I have to go.”

“Come with me then,” Solona encouraged, tugging him along with her.

A darkness fell over the scene as the demon figured out it had lost. “No! He is ours! And I would rather see him dead than free!”

The woman lashed out at Solona who was ready with a barrier. The children all running around morphed before her eyes into shades. To his credit, Alistair did not hesitate to help her fight when the demons came at them. Even in no armor and his bare hands, he was a fairly decent fighter. When Solona felled the demon still disguised as his sister, she glanced around and saw that the others had all been vanquished as well. “G-Goldanna?” he stuttered seeing the woman lying dead on the ground. “I can't believe it! How did I not see this earlier?” he wondered, his shoulders slumping.

“The demon probably did something to your head,” she said softly, remembering how she had almost been duped herself.

“Yes... uh, well... try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was.” He asked, glancing at her. “Are we going now?” Before she could answer, he began to fade before her eyes. “Wait, where are you going? What's happening to me? Hey!” Solona reached out to grab him, but he was simply gone. Had he woken up? Or had he been moved somewhere by Sloth?

Solona cursed under her breath, hoping he was safe. There was not much to be done, except push forward. Just as Duncan had said. Always push forward. She headed back to the pedestal and moved to the next island. Leliana was in a similar situation as Alistair had been. The revered mother from Lothering stood over Leliana as she prayed. Leliana had no idea who Solona was, so Solona said swiftly, “Just remember exactly why you left the Chantry.”

Leliana gasped after a moment and as the 'revered mother' attempted to smooth things over, Leliana came to her senses. A short battle ensued as the revered mother transformed into a large shade demon and attempted to kill her charge. Leliana fought back with a dagger that she had at her back. Once the demon was dead, Leliana seemed to break free of the enchantment and she smiled at Solona. “I believe we had something important to do.”

Much like Alistair, Leliana faded and disappeared right before Solona's eyes. One last Island before Sloth. Wynne was standing in dismay, surrounded by several dead apprentices. After a few minutes, Solona was able to convince Wynne as she had the others, causing the dead apprentices to rise and try to lull Wynne back into complacency. Wynne recognized them for demons and threw the first punch, as it were, by unleashing a powerful blizzard spell that whirled around, freezing all of the demons. Solona moved from one to another, smashing them to bits with her staff. After thanking her, Wynne disappeared.

Hoping her friends were safe, Solona made her way to the central island where Sloth awaited. The demon stood in the middle of a wide open space littered with ruts and swirling mounds in the ground that were designed to trip. Several Lyrium nodes were scattered about and Solona carefully picked her way to the demon. “What do we have here? A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?” The demon issued a horrifying laugh from it's faceless head. It's body stood upright with sheer will alone it seemed, as it looked like a Revenant. Heavily armored bones supported by magic. Though she supposed it could look however it chose in it's own domain. “My, my... but you do have some gall. But playtime is over. You all have to go back now.” It threatened as her friends appeared behind her just as quickly as they had disappeared.

“Oh, here I am! And there you are... You just disappeared. Oh, well, no matter,” Alistair said with a shrug.

“You tried to keep us apart!” Leliana accused. “You led us from each other because you fear us, don't you?”

“You will not hold us, demon!” Wynne growled. “We found each other in this place and you cannot stand against us.”

“If you go back quietly,” the demon purred with it's unnatural resonance. “I'll do better this time. I'll make you much happier.”

“I'll make my own happiness, thank you,” Solona scoffed, crossing her arms. She just might go mad if she had to fight through all of this mess again. She was sore and even more tired in spite of actually being asleep.

“Can't you think of someone other than yourself?” the demon taunted, its head turning so it was 'looking' at Alistair. “I'm hurt. So very, very hurt.”

“You'll get over it,” she growled, drawing her staff.

“You wish to battle me? So be it... You will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!”

Solona came to be very grateful for the shards of Lyrium scattered around the area. Each time they killed an incarnation of the Sloth demon, it had another form hidden beneath the topcoat. Six different forms, six different spell combinations that might actually work. Her brain was fried and her energy spent. “Urgh!” she shouted angrily as she slammed her staff into the ground, shaking the earth with her earthquake spell to knock the demon off it's feet so Alistair could get close to slash at it with his sword. “Just die already! For Andraste's sake!”

She lifted her staff and spun it around, charging a chained lightning spell. When she unleashed the volley, the demon jerked and spasmed. Alistair held back his shield tipped downward in case there was a stray bit of magic that arched his way. Solona was very careful not to hit her people with friendly fire. Sometimes that fire was very literal. When the lightning ceased, she threw a fireball and it exploded on Sloth's chest. The demon cried out and began to smolder. The flames grew and enveloped it's form. Solona braced for the explosion of magic that indicated a new form, but as the demon fell, the burst of magic never came. Alistair poked at the corpse with his sword, then rammed it through it's head for good measure. “I think you got it.”

“Thank the Maker,” Solona gasped nearly losing her balance as all of her energy seemed to seep from her. Wynne was at her side in seconds, a cool blue mist hovering over her. Solona absorbed the healing magic, thankful for the boost.

Niall appeared out of nowhere and looked around, his eyes wide. “You defeated the demon I never thought... I never expected you to free yourself. To free us both. When you return, take the Litany of Adralla from my...body.” He cringed slightly and sighed before continuing. “It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic.”

“Aren't you coming to help?” she gasped.

“I cannot go with you,” he said sadly. “I have been here far too long... for you it will have been an afternoon's nap. Your body won't have withered away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of the demon.”

“You think you're going to die?” Solona asked with a frown.

“Every minute I was here, the sloth demon was feeding off of me, using my life to fuel the nightmares of this realm. There is so little of me left... I was never meant to save the Circle, or... survive it's troubles. I am dying. It is as simple as that.” He shrugged as if he had accepted the fate ages ago.

“Is there truly nothing we could do?” she asked gently.

He smiled kindly at her. “Thank you, but it is too late for me. I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker's side in death... and that isn't such a terrible thing. My only regret is that I could not save the Circle. But you... you can. Take the Litany off my... my body when you return. It is important.”

With that, she felt herself being pulled from the Fade, her body waking up. She blinked and it was as it had been before. When her eyes opened, she was back in the Circle tower, the world no longer fuzzy and surreal. Everything was sharp and tangible and present. No floating book cases here. She was lying curled in the fetal position, Alistair's arm beneath her as if he had attempted to catch her from falling even as he was sucked into the dream. She groaned at the hard stone ground pressing into her hip and shifted her weight. His arm pulled away and she sighed. Eventually she was going to have to face her attraction to him and stuff it deep down in the depths of her mind so they could do what needed to be done without her accidentally driving a wedge between them. She stood stiffly and the others followed stretching and yawning. She moved around the body of the Sloth demon and knelt beside Niall. She closed his staring eyes and then gently rolled him over to search his pockets for the scroll. After finding it, she silently pushed forward. She had almost forgotten the fleshy growths around the walls of the tower, but they were now staring back at her with hours more growth attached. Maker knew what had gone on while they had been trapped.

On the other side of the central spire, they were set upon by a drake of all things. She had heard tell of one of the Senior enchanters having strange pets, but she had never believed the rumors. Here it was staring her in the face. It was the size of a large grizzly bear and had bony protrusions sticking out from its head and down it's back. It had no wings like a normal dragon did, but where they should have jutted from it's shoulders, long pointed spikes stuck back at an angle to match the smaller spikes along its scaly hide. It's long neck perfectly balanced it's long tail. Solona almost felt bad taking the creature's life. Dragons and their kin were so rare, only having returned to Thedas in the past 30 years or so when the Dragon Age began.

After killing the beast, in the next room, they ran into the rest of the crazy man's pets. Dragonlings. Eight of them. “Sweet Maker,” Alistair cursed as they brought down the beasts. “What else are you mages keeping hidden in this tower?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Solona teased.

“Well, I think they should have drawn the line at Dragons. Pet abominations is a bit of a reach,” he mused.

“Every one has to have their hobbies,” she smirked patting his shoulder as she stepped over a dragonling corpse and headed for the templar's quarters. They were almost at the Harrowing Chamber. Not many more places for Uldred and his lackeys to be hiding.

In the small room that made for a entryway leading up to the Chamber, they came upon a most curious sight. Below the stairs and off to the side stood a floor to ceiling cylinder of magic. Solona gazed up and down the humming energy barrier, running her fingers along the edges. From behind the barrier, Cullen stood watching her with a wild eyed expression. She locked eyes with him and she saw torture behind those amber pools. Her heart clenched as his expression turned to rage. “This trick again!? It won't work! I know what you are!” He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands and rocked back and forth, clasping his fingers together. “I will stay strong...”

“Cullen,” she whimpered, kneeling down to put herself on his level. “Don't you recognize me?”

“Only too well,” he spat, his eyes darting up to meet hers with venom “How far they must have delved into my thoughts...”

Wynne touched Solona's shoulder gently. “The boy is exhausted. And this cage... I've never seen anything like it.” She turned her attention to Cullen and said in her same soft tone. “Rest easy... help is here...”

“Enough visions!” Cullen demanded, his voice breaking in dismay. “If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game!”

“He's delirious... He's been tortured and has probably been denied food and water. I can tell,” Leliana said with sympathy. “Here... I have a skin of...” Before she could hand over the skin, he jerked away.

“Don't touch me, stay away! Sifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have... Using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things. I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks... these...”

She reached out to touch the barrier again, but thought better of it. “This is no trick. We're here to help,” she said with a short glance behind her at Alistair, who's eyes were flicking back and forth between her and Cullen with curiosity.

Cullen shot to his feet. “Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say! Now begone!” He pressed his eyes shut, for a few moments. When he reopened them, his shoulders slumped and he let out a wail. “Still here? But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them...”

“I'm real,” she assured him gently. “And I'm here to help you.”

He sighed as his eyes blinked tightly one last time, just in case. “You can't blame me for being cautious... Why have you returned to the tower? How did you survive?”

“Greagoir told me what happened. I had to help,” she said.

“They caged us like animals...” he explained, gesturing at the barrier holding him back. “Looked for ways to break us... I'm the only one left. They turned some into... monsters. And... there was nothing I could do.”

“Uldred will pay for what he's done,” she growled angrily. Cullen had been such a sweet boy. Now he was pacing like a wild thing, itching to be free so he could seek his own vengeance. It wasn't right.

“And to think I once thought we were too hard on you,” he snapped, his head whirling and his eyes falling on her.

“We're not all evil, Cullen,” she said with a sigh, wishing she could have saved him from this fate.

“Only mages have that much power at their fingertips. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons,” he growled.

“This is a discussion for another time,” Wynne grunted, her soft voice rising in urgency. “Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred. Where are they?”

“They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out of there... Oh, Maker...” his voice cracked again in fear.

“We must hurry,” Wynne insisted, gripping Solona's arm. “They are in grave danger, I am sure of it.”

“You can't save them. You don't know what they've become!” Cullen shouted in a panic.

“I'm a mage too, Cullen,” Solona reminded him.

“But you haven't been up there! You haven't been under their influence. They've been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts.”

Alistair stepped up to her and whispered. “His hatred of mages is so intense... the memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind...”

“You have to end it now! Before it's too late!” he demanded over Alistair's words.

Solona shook her head. “I want to save everyone who can possibly be saved.”

“Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk?” Cullen growled, twitching forward as if he wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. “To ensure this horror is ended... to ensure that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.”

“Id rather spare Maleficarum than risk harming an innocent,” Solona insisted, her shoulders squaring with determination.

“Thank you,” Wynne said with a sigh. “I knew you would make a rational decision.”

“Rational?” Cullen choked out a disbelieving snort. “How is this rational? Do you understand the danger?”

Wynne narrowed her eyes. “I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be Maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry...”

“You know nothing!” he growled. “I am thinking about the future of the Circle! Of Ferelden!”

“I do not want the blood of innocents on my hands,” Solona said, glancing down at her hands that had killed their first humans this very day. It was already a weight on her conscience, that she would rather not add to.

“I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore. But what can I do?” he grunted gesturing again at his prison. “As you can see, I am in no position to directly influence your actions, though I would love to deal with the mages myself...”

“Perhaps I can free you...” Solona offered, her hands landing on the barrier again.

“Don't waste time on me... deal with Uldred, if that is what you plan to do. Once he is dead, I will be freed.” Cullen sighed, a hint of his old chivalrous tone creeping into his voice.

“Stay safe, it will be over soon,” she promised, pulling her hands from the barrier and backing away.

“No one ever listens, not until it is far too late,” he sighed as she and her companions began to climb the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber.

 

Halfway up the spiral staircase the sounds that Cullen had mentioned became rather apparent. Tortured screams, crackling lightning and the hum of magic permeated the narrow stairwell as they climbed. Beyond the door at the top of the stairs, they stepped into the Harrowing Chamber and watched as they arrived too late and one of the mages had a demon thrust into his body where it twisted and bubbled his skin turning him into an abomination. Solona was furious. Several abominations already stood around the large round room, but there were still some mages trussed up together and sitting on the floor in small groups. All of them looked worse for the wear as they averted their eyes from the torture. When the new abomination stood, Uldred turned to greet his guests. Solona stood proudly at the front of the group, her fists balled in rage. “Ah, look what we have here. I remember you. Irving's star pupil. Uldred didn't think much of you then, and I certainly don't see your appeal now...”

“Well, forgive me if I'm not very impressed,” she growled.

He rolled his eyes. “I suppose one can't be loved universally. I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately that must mean you've killed my servants... Oh well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence.”

Solona crossed her arms and thrust out her bottom lip to mock Uldred. “Oh, I'm sorry. Are you upset I killed your lackeys?”

“We needn't fixate on who killed whom. That doesn't help our relationship.” Uldred sighed as if she were disrespecting him.

“What are you trying to accomplish by torturing these people?”

“A mage is but the larval form of something greater. Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential. Look at them! The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious!”

“You're mad!” Wynne cried. “There's nothing glorious about what you've become, Uldred.”

A villainous chuckle wrapped itself around Solona's insides and squeezed. “Uldred? He is gone! I am Uldred, yet not Uldred. I am more than he was. I could give you this gift, Wynne. You and all mages. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it. But some people are so stubborn...” he sighed and crossed his arms.

“I'm glad so many of them stood up to you!” Solona snapped.

“And what good does that do?” he puckered his lips and spoke as if she were a child. “I still won... Wait! What do we have here? Why it's the First Enchanter... Aww. Say hello to your old apprentice, Irving. Don't mind the blood. He's had a hard day.”

“What have you done to him?!” Wynne gasped in horror.

Irving sat on the floor amongst the other captive mages. His entire body shook and he looked ready to collapse, but still he sat up, resisting. “Stop him!” His voice came out gravely and weakened, likely from hours of torture. “He... is... building an army. He will... destroy the templars... and...”

“You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn...”

“Never!” Irving choked.

“That's enough out of you, Irving,” Uldred snapped. “He'll serve me eventually... as will you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she balled her fists again, her anger flaring as he threatened her. Why was she even talking to him?

“Oh, I'm not stupid! You think I'm going to let you wander around this tower, knowing you are a pawn of the templars? You are a thorn in my side and I must remove you before you fester.”

“You can certainly _try_ to get rid of me,” she growled.

“Killing you would be a waste. Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable. I can do that... I can give you power, and a new life.”

“I'm sorry. I can't let you do that,” she insisted.

“I don't think your opinion matters. This is what I've decided and this is what will be done. Fight if you must, it will just make my victory all the sweeter.”

“Don't forget the Litany,” Wynne reminded her in a whisper. “It will thwart Uldred's attempts to control the mages and win this fight for us.”

Solona backed away as Uldred disappeared in a flash of white to be replaced by a gigantic demon of pride. Alistair grabbed her arm and pulled her even further back. “Stay out of the line of smite.”

She nodded and pulled the scroll from where she had tucked it in her armor. She quickly read and memorized the short verse before tucking it away again and mumbling it repeatedly under her breath as she drew her staff and began to draw on her mana. Leliana and Wynne set to work on picking off the stray abominations that Uldred had sicked on them when he started the fight. Solona continuously threw short bursts of basic magic from the ends of her staff, using the inertia to charge it for larger spells. All while repeating the Litany over and over, to be certain that Uldred could not get his hands on the rest of the mages. It seemed to work. As he realized that all of his pets had been killed around him, he growled and his hand flew up. A wide pulsing band of rippling magic appeared around one of the mages behind Irving, but as she completed the verse another time, the ripples dissipated and Uldred cried out in frustration. _Thank you, Niall_. She thought. A bright Holy Smite dropped Uldred to his knees and Solona took advantage of the situation to draw a glyph below him and ignite it. Flames licked over the demon's skin and he roared in pain. She triggered a second explosion from the same glyph and then called her earth magic to yank large stalagmites from the ground beneath him to pierce his melting flesh. Then to finish him off, she wrapped him in a crushing prison and allowed his massive body to be smashed into demon paste.

“Well, at least it didn't explode this time,” Alistair said with a chuckle.

Solona ceased her chanting and jogged over to the First Enchanter. The others set to work on the bonds of the other mages. “Maker, I'm too old for this.” Irving complained with a choking laugh.

“Irving, are you all right? Wynne asked, her palms already glowing blue to help with his injuries. He brushed her off as Solona helped him to his feet.

“I've... been better, but I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn't it, Wynne?”

The elderly woman flushed and glanced at Solona. “I wasn't alone. I had help.”

Irving's eyes fell on Solona as well. “I was surprised to see you standing there. But I am glad you have returned. The Circle owes both of you a debt we will never be able to repay.” He straightened and continued. “Come. The templars await. We shall let them know that the tower is once again ours.” Solona nodded her agreement with a small smile. Irving glanced at her and returned the gesture. “I'll need you to guide me down the stairs... ahh, curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower.”

It was an awkward and silent trek back down to the main entry where Greagoir awaited. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had been closed in. Cullen's eyes bored into her back as she allowed Irving to lean on her. Wynne had slipped him a healing spell, but they were not one hundred percent effective on injuries below the surface. Several of the other mages broke off when they reached the common area by the basement, but Irving stoically trekked ahead to speak with Greagoir. Cullen was not far behind.

Greagoir miraculously lived up to his word and opened the doors almost as soon as he heard Irving's voice. “Irving? Maker's breath, I didn't expect to see you alive.”

“It is over Greagoir,” Irving patted Solona's hand and stepped away from her to stand on his own. “Uldred... is dead.”

“Uldred tortured these mages hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations,” Cullen said and Solona flinched, knowing what was coming next. “We don't know how many of them have turned.”

“What?” Irving grunted. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Of course he'll say that! He might be a blood mage. Don't you know what they did? I won't let this happen again.” Cullen roared.

“I am the Knight-Commander here, not you,” Greagoir pointed out angrily.

“I believe order has been restored,” Solona interjected, offering up her opinion.

“We will rebuild. The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it,” Irving said.

“We have won back the tower,” Greagoir agreed. “I will accept Irving's assurance that all is well.”

“They may have demons within them lying dormant! Lying in wait!” Cullen insisted.

“Enough! I have already made my decision.” Greagoir turned to Solona and offered her a rare smile. “Thank you. You have proven yourself a friend to both the Circle, and to the templars.”

“What of the Darkspawn? I require aid,” Solona said wondering if she was still going to receive templar assistance.

“I promised you aid, but with the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages. They are free to help you, however. Speak to Irving,” he said before turning away to do a sweep of the tower.

Solona turned to the First Enchanter and he smiled gently at her. “Here we are. The tower in disarray, the Circle nearly annihilated... though it could have been much much worse. I am glad you arrived when you did. It's almost as if the Maker himself sent you.”

Solona flushed. “The Blight drove me here to seek aid.”

“From what Gregoir said, it seems you came here seeking allies. The least we can do is help you against the Darkspawn. I would hate to survive this only to be overrun by the Blight,” Irving said.

“But there are so few mages left,” she sighed sadly.

You of all people should know that we are not to be underestimated. The mages we have here will be a great help to you,” Irving insisted. “You have my word as First Enchanter. This Circle will join the Grey Wardens in this fight.”

“Irving, I have a request,” Wynne said softly. “I seek leave to follow the Grey Warden.”

“Wynne, we need you here. The Circle needs you,” Irving said with as much shock as Solona felt.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will be fine without me. The Circle has you. This woman is brave and good, and capable of great things. If she will accept my help, I will help her accomplish her goals.”

“I would be honored to have you join me, Wynne,” Solona said, the reddening of her face deepening with each compliment.

Irving chuckled softly. “You were never one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere.”

“Why stay here when I can be of service elsewhere?” Wynne said with a grin.

“Then I give you leave to follow the Grey Warden, but know that you always have a place here,” Irving said with a short bow. “There is much to be done here and I must go. You must forgive me for not being a proper host.”

“Just one more moment of your time, First Enchanter,” Solona said gently. “More than just the Blight drove me here. Can the Circle travel to Redcliffe to save a possessed child?”

Irving cocked his head in curiosity. “The child is possessed? But... killing the demon would mean killing the... unless you intend to enter the Fade? Yes... yes, it can be done with a group of mages... I shall gather what mages I can and we shall leave promptly. A life is at stake.”

Irving rushed off, barely allowing Solona to thank him. She could barely stand to be another minute in the tower. “Come on. We should head back and check in on things at the castle,” Solona said.

 


	6. Assassins and Imposters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to Denerim Solona and her friends hit a few snags.

They left Kinloch Hold a companion heavier. Wynne climbed into the boat with Leliana and again, Solona was left with Alistair. She was reaching her breaking point with no sleep. The brief jaunt to the Fade had not given her any rest and she had been using her magic to the brink of being tapped for nearly a full day. As they pushed off from the shore and Alistair hopped into the tiny rowboat, he grinned excitedly. She returned the smile, but was not in the mood for any deep conversations. She hinted as much by lowering her head onto her knees and sighing heavily. Alistair took the hint flawlessly and turned his attention to simply rowing the boat into the middle of the lake so they could float south to Redcliffe.

Solona found no rest in the boat as the sun began to dip below the horizon. She was drawn into her own thoughts. She was exhausted, hungry and sapped, but Alistair's profile in the backdrop of the setting sun still caught her attention. She sighed and stared for a moment before blurting out the compliment she felt she owed him for calling her beautiful. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

His head swiveled and his eyes fell on her in shock for a moment before a teasing grin spread across his face. “Not unless they were asking me for a favor.” His brows knitted together and then he amended his phrase. “Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were... not like you...” The grin returned and his eyes flicked over her shabby run down appearance. “Why? Is this your way of telling me _you_ think I'm handsome?”

“And if it is?” She slurred, not really certain what she was saying. “What then?”

He snorted. “Oh, nothing much. I just get to grin a bit and look foolish for a while.”

“That's nothing new,” she said with a yawn.

“Oh, my wounded pride,” he sighed, the promised grin still present. “We still have a few hours of rowing ahead of us. You should rest, Sol. You look exhausted.”

 

Compared to the last visit, the stroll through the Fade to save Connor was easy as pie. Solona ran into Arl Eamon early on, trapped in sea of spirits that all looked like either him or Connor. She calmed him and promised she would help. Through a portal, she found Connor. After speaking to him for a few moments, it became rather evident that she was definitely not speaking to Connor. It was a guardian, meant to confuse and trap her, too. She destroyed the demon and crossed back through the portal. On the other side, the area where Arl Eamon had stood was changed. She followed a twirling path around to a twisted idea of a bedroom. Connor stood there again, his arms crossed. 'You're the one making father sick!' the guardian accused. Solona waved it off and it attacked her. She dodged the swipe of it's arm after it, rather painfully, changed from Connor into a desire demon. She jammed her staff into its gut, pushing it away from her and onto the bed behind it. She set the bed ablaze beneath it. With the second guardian dealt with, she had no choice but to take the portal again. Through the shimmering purple haze and out the other side, another guardian attacked. She was starting to get irritated. When she crossed thorough the portal a fourth time, the demon stood alone in it's true form. Solona crossed her arms as the demon propositioned her. “We have nothing to discuss,” Solona said boldly. “You've taken the soul of a child and I refuse to bargain for it. You will hand it over and leave, or you will die.”

The demon chose to die, lashing out at Solona. She slammed it with a stonefist from her staff and knocked it to the ground. The demon got to its feet and threw it's own magic at her. The bolt bounced off her hastily erected barrier. She hit it with a winter's grasp, but all that did was chill the demon, not freeze it. It angrily swiped at her with slow, labored movements as it's body fought the cold from her spell. She slammed the head of her staff into it's head and scurried away from it's reach. After shaking off the blow, the demon laughed and threw it's arms out to the sides. It shimmered and suddenly she was surrounded by several copies of the demon, all of them circling her. Did it think to escape this way? The trick was finding the right one. She unleashed a tempest, allowing the lightning to strike at each of the demon's dopplegangers. When it hit a copy, the image shattered in an instant. Soon the numbers of copies had been reduced enough for Solona to glance around and pick out the original. It was not quite as bright as the copies. She grinned and casually attempted to pretend she had no idea which was the original. All the while she grabbed a hold of her force magic and called a fist of the Maker to smash the demon to the ground. The copies all disappeared as it took such heavy damage. A fireball scorched it's skin and it ran at her, still on fire, shrieking in anger. It slashed down with it's claws and hit Solona on the shoulder. She hissed and backed away, reinforcing her barrier. She was tired and getting sloppy. Wynne was on standby in the real world with her healing magic, but Solona did not relish in needing her services. She called down a crushing prison and stopped the demon in it's tracks. A cone of cold froze it where the winter's grasp had not. She threw a stonefist and the desired result shattered the demon. Solona dropped onto her back and sighed.

When she woke, her task completed, she had to chase Isolde up to Connor's room as the woman raced to check on her boy. When it was established that the demon was gone, Solona sighed in relief. She had saved Connor without having to sacrifice anyone. It was a winning situation. There was still the matter of the Arl. She, Isolde, and Teagan stood beside the Arl's bed, staring down at his unconscious form. Teagan sighed. “Connor is his old self. He does not seem to remember anything, which is a blessing.” _The power of repression_ , Solona thought. “I suppose we will need to send him to the Circle of Magi's tower for... training, once the war is over. It's so odd to think of the boy as a mage, of all things. Eamon has much to mourn and rebuild, should he recover. But at least he can be thankful that both his son and wife are safe.” Teagan smiled and touched Isolde's shoulder.

“I owe you my deepest thanks,” Isolde said, her voice ragged. “I had nearly... I can scarcely believe Connor is the boy he once was.”

“There is still the matter of Jowan,” Teagan reminded her, making her flinch. She really wasn't prepared to deal with that just yet. “His poisoning Eamon began this whole mess, yet he lives. I must decide what becomes of him...” At Solona's questioning tip of her head and crossing of her arms, he amended the decision. “We will hold him for Eamon to decide his fate. If he doesn't recover, Jowan's fate is sealed. What do you think?”

Oh, now he was asking her... “I don't think it's your decision to make,” she shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Teagan asked with a sneer. “He is responsible for many of the problems here and is a Maleficar as well.”

“Exactly. He is the Circle of Magi's responsibility,” she sighed.

Teagan took a step back and hung his head. “Perhaps you are correct, but that is Eamon's decision, not mine. I am sorry. Jowan stays in the dungeons for now... But our task is not done yet. Whatever the demon did to my brother, it seems to have spared his life... but he remains comatose. We cannot wake him.”

“The Urn!” Isolde sugested. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes will save Eamon!”

“The Urn is a legend,” Solona said with a frown. “It might never be found.”

“That is a possibility, but there is a reason it is still an option. I'm not simply grasping at straws,” Teagan explained.

“My husband funded the research of a Scholar in Denerim. A Brother Genetivi. He has been studying the inscription on Andraste's birth rock. When Eamon fell ill, I sent the Knights to speak to Genetivi. I'd hoped that he had finally discovered the location of the Urn of Sacred Ashes itself... They were unable to locate Genetivi. In desperation, I sent more Knights in search of the brother, or some clue of the Urn's location.”

Solona sighed. They needed Eamon on his feet. They had secured the Mage's help, so at least looking into the Urn was not very far out of their way. “I will... see if I can find this relic,” she agreed.

“No one else can,” Teagan said in relief. “Even if I wished to do it myself, I cannot abandon Redcliffe to it's own devices. Perhaps you could seek out the Brother's home in Denerim and see if any clues remain on his whereabouts. It is the only place to begin the search. I must go to the hall and begin rebuilding. I wish you luck and may the Maker go with you.”

Isolde smiled at her as Teagan gave a short bow and left. “Thank you again for my son's life. I owe you a great debt. I have arranged accommodations in the castle for you and your companions for the night.” Then she bowed and left Solona as well.

Solona made her way from the family wing, retracing her steps to find the way to the rest of the castle. She had a lot to think about and some planning to do. It seemed their next destination would be Denerim. They would need to be discreet in the city and not draw attention to themselves. Loghain would have eyes everywhere. She wandered the castle, looking for the way to the kitchens. She was starving. She stumbled upon a small room full of bookshelves and a sturdy desk in the middle. It must have been the Arl's study. She traced her fingers over the books, and was about to leave when her eyes caught a flash of light out of the corner of her eye when she moved. On the top of the desk was a small amulet. When she investigated closer, it had the symbol of Andraste on one side and a small crack down the back of it that had not repaired as well as the rest. It had to be the amulet that Alistair had told her about. The one of his mother's. She delicately picked up the amulet and the light silver chain dangled from her fingers. The Arl had repaired the amulet. Solona smiled and pocketed the amulet. Alistair would appreciate having it back.

On her way back to discovering the kitchens, she was stopped by the man himself. “There you are.” He grinned at her.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, noticing the flustered and apprehensive look on his face. He was carrying a small book.

He cleared his throat and held up the book. Then he opened it to the middle and plucked out a dried rose. She had seen him before, admiring the flower, but she was unsure of it's significance. It seemed a personal thing, so she had left him to it, never questioning. “Look at this...” he handed the flower to her and she took it by the stem, delicately so as not to damage it. “Do you know what this is?”

“Your new weapon of choice?” she asked in her usual teasing tone as she studied the beautiful flower.

“Yes! That's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements. Feel my thorns, Darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!” He said dramatically, shaking his fists. After a short chuckle, his apprehensive look returned. “Or, you know, it could just be a rose... I know that's pretty dull in comparison.” He shuffled his feet.

“You've been thumbing this flower for a while,” she said gently, letting him know that she had noticed.

He nodded. “I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness'? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The Darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since.” He admitted. He shuffled his feet again and his hands began to wring together, the book tucked under his arm.

“That's a nice sentiment,” she said with a smile, offering the rose back to him so he could place it back in the book.

His wringing hands pushed it back at her as he shook his head with a nervous smile. “I thought that I might... give it to you, actually.” His face and the tips of his ears burned red. If she had been walking, she might have tripped. Instead, she gaped as her stomach flipped and her heart began to race. “In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

His eyes flicked up from the floor to look at her and she gasped at the intensity in them. “Thank you, Alistair. That's a lovely thought...” She pulled the rose to her nose and inhaled. It still held a small amount of it's original scent combined with her favorite smell of book bindings and paper. She closed her eyes and smiled.

She heard the smile in his voice without having to look up. “I'm glad you like it. I was just thinking... here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself.” She looked up at him through her lashes, cradling the delicate flower to her chest. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something... Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... darkness.”

He had been her rock since day one. His quick wit and humor helped to lift her up, even when she was feeling like the chaos would never end. He looked out for her, consoled her when she had a nightmare. No wonder she found herself tipping ever so slowly into the pit of her feelings for him. Now here he was, offering her a beautiful compliment and telling her that she was needed. “I... I feel the same way about you,” she admitted.

He smiled and a sigh of relief spilled out of him before he repeated. “I'm glad you like it.” Then his teasing playful face returned and he began to fidget. “Now... if we could move right on past this awkward embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits I'd appreciate it...”

She snorted and chuckled, choking back the urge to grab and kiss him. He was just teasing she told herself. “Sounds good. Off with the armor, then,” she joked.

He chuckled nervously. “Bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me!”

She blurted out her next comment without thought as her still exhausted brain made decisions for her. “You're so cute when you're bashful.” _Maker! What? No!_

She flushed and took a step back from him. “I'll be...” he laughed nervously as he also backed away. “I'll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is.”

She almost let him go, but then she remembered what she had just found. “Wait! I, uh... I have something for you as well.” she fished in her pocket as he slowly came back to stand beside her, the tips of his ears still flushed red.

She pulled out the amulet and pressed it into his palm. His eyes left hers to glance down at the previously broken jewelry. “This... this is my mother's amulet,” he gasped. “It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?”

“I found it in the study,” she tipped her head in the general direction of the room she'd been in.

“Oh! The Arl's study?” he asked, all trace of his embarrassment gone as he studied the amulet, his fingers tracing delicately over the hairline crack on the back. “Then he must have... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand. Why would he do that?”

Solona shrugged. “Perhaps you mean more to him than you think?”

His eyes lifted to meet hers. “I... guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and then the way I left... Thank you. I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his... _when_ he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago.” He studied her face as a half smile thinned his lips. “Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things.”

“Sorry? Did you say something?” she asked with a grin.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he laughed mockingly and held up his hand with a rude gesture. “See this gesture I'm making? Can you hear that?”

She chuckled and pushed his hand away. “I am going to find something to eat and then call it a night. The nap on the boat did nothing for me.”

“Thank you again, for this,” he held up the amulet.

“And thank _you_.” She sniffed the rose again and smiled at him through her lashes before fleeing.

 

Solona had avoided Alistair as best she could while they were in the castle, but now, on the road, there was little to be done. She had done her best to try and quash the feelings that she was developing towards him. Surely if he was feeling the same butterflies in his stomach every time they talked, he had been given plenty of opportunities to act on them. When they settled for the night, Leliana began preparing a meal with some of the provisions that Isolde had provided them with when they left Redcliffe. Solona had an actual tent now for protection from the elements which in Ferelden was a very prudent thing to have. As she struggled with the spikes, hammering them into the frozen ground, someone approached. She froze as his voice slipped over her skin. “Listen, can we talk for a minute?”

What was this about? Her hands began to shake as she dropped the rock she'd been using to hammer with and glanced back at him with her best mask of neutrality. “Sure. I could use a break from this impossible task, anyhow.”

She got to her feet and brushed dirt from her knees and he led her off to the edge of camp, directly opposite of Morrigan's self imposed solitude. Solona continuously watched him, looking for a hint as to why he was wanting this conversation to remain private. What did he want? His face was frustratingly as neutral as hers. He stopped her just inside the treeline and said, “Now that we're back at camp, I want to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe.”

Her eyes widened. Did he mean the things she'd said? Was he admitting his discomfort at her teasing? Maker she had been so tired. Why had she said those things? “Okay,” was all she said, waiting for him to speak before she shoved her foot in her mouth again.

“I just wanted to thank you.” _That was unexpected._ “You went out of your way to save the Arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to. There's been so much death and destruction. It... well, it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owe the Arl that much.”

She sighed in relief and smiled. “If we can stop the Blight, we'll save a _lot_ more.”

His smile matched hers. “You're right. Hopefully, by that time, there's still enough of Ferelden left to save.” He chuckled. “Good. Now the the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over with, we can get back to the Ritual Dismemberments... Oh, wait, it's not Tuesday, is it?” He patted her arm and walked off, a spring in his step.

She gulped in a breath of air and tried to gather her wits back up. He made her so nervous. Now that she had realized what she was feeling, it was difficult to ignore. Why had that damned demon showed her that future? She rubbed her face, burying it temporarily in her palms as if that would scrub the feelings from her. Then she trudged back to finish setting up her tent.

She sat on her bedroll when she was done and pulled her back pack onto her lap. She was fishing for a handful of jerky to give to Barkspawn when she remembered the tome she had snuck from the Circle. She pulled the large black leather bound book from her pack and studied the cover. When she opened it, and began to read, nothing in it made sense to her. The magic was like none she had ever seen before. It was not a good idea to take the book to Wynne, she was too much of a Circle mage. Morrigan would know what to do with it. She placed the book back in her pack and crept from her tent to make her way over to Morrigan.

The woman offered her a forced smile as she sat down near her. “I found something in the tower that I think you might get more use out of than me. I don't understand much of it.”

She slipped the book from her bag and held it out to Morrigan. The woman gasped and took the grimoire from her hands to eagerly flip through the pages. “What? You found Flemeth's grimoire?! Ever since you discovered the condition of the mage's tower, I had wondered if it might be recoverable... but I had yet to speak of it to you!” She glanced up from the ancient pages and a genuine smile spread across her face. It warmed Solona's heart to see her like that. It took an already beautiful woman and made her stunning. “How fortunate that you found it on your own. You have my thanks! I will begin study of the tome immediately.”

“What do you hope to find in it?” Solona asked in curiosity.

“Secrets,” Morrigan said provocatively, smirking at Solona through her lashes. “My mother has many of them, and this tome represents the one time that they were able to get away from her... I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know.” her eyes fell back onto the pages. “This should be... interesting.”

 

With a week's worth of travel under their belts along the King's road, they still had another whole week to go before they reached Denerim. Solona's nightmares were getting more vivid and it was many nights that she rolled around in her tent in a fitful sleep. Visions of Darkspawn spilling out from the ground and ravaging the world made for a poor night's rest. Still, she did her best to not only keep her wits about her when they ran into the occasional roving band of Darkspawn, but she also maintained her friendly, good natured facade in spite of being endlessly tired. Her companions seemed not to notice. She concentrated diligently to remember things they mentioned or quirks they had. It was important for her to know these people well. Their lives were in her hands and hers in theirs, and it felt sometimes like she was the thread that held them all together as she wound and weaved through camp each evening, swapping pleasantries.

Just the day before, she had plucked a white lily that smelled of lilac, mint and eucalyptus to give to Leliana who gushed over the flower. Her mother had died when she was very young and the only thing she remembered of her was her scent. She had smelled of Andraste's Grace, as the flower was called, because she would spread the petals among her clothes. Sten had revealed two days before, that she was not as 'callow' as he had assumed. Instead of being insulted, she took the compliment as it fell, steering the conversation to him. He told her of how he had gotten into the cage she had found him in. Qunari saw their swords as an extension of their souls. Upon arriving in Ferelden, he and his companions had been attacked by Darkspawn very near to the Circle Tower. He had been rendered unconscious and when he woke, his sword was missing. When he asked his rescuers if they knew what had happened to it, they had not known, in a panic he had killed them all. The regret in his expression and his voice drew a promise from her to help him search. He had looked shocked that she had decided to waste time on him when there were other things to be done.

She and Alistair had returned to their usual casual banter as she decided to smash her feelings into a tiny ball and stow them away deep down where they could not affect her judgment. As she stared at her feet shuffling along the dusty stone of the road to avoid staring at the man in question as he walked ahead with Wynne, she let out a soft yelp as Leliana spirited up alongside her and said, “I lied to you, you know...” When Solona recovered from the sudden interruption and cocked her head in question, Leliana continued. “About why I left Orlais.”

Solona nodded. “So you didn't just get tired of the bard life?”

Leliana pressed her lips together. “No. I had been betrayed and was being hunted.”

“Hunted?!” Solona gasped. “What happened?”

“It was my bard master, Marjolaine. She had given me an assignment. I was to kill a man and bring her everything he carried. I did not ask questions. It was my job, after all. On his body, I discovered sealed documents. I was curious, and something told me I needed to know what was in these documents. The documents were proof that Marjolaine had been selling information about Orlais to other countries, particularly Ferelden.”

“Isn't that what bards do?” Solona asked. “I mean, they are basically spies...”

“Some do, yes, but Orlais is particularly sensitive to such dealings since they have been at war with so many countries in the past. I was concerned for Marjolaine, but I resealed the letters and handed them over. I couldn't leave well enough alone and one night I confessed that I was worried about her. She brushed off my concern and said it had been handled. I believed her... I kept believing right up until the chevaliers showed me the documents, altered by her hand, to make me look the traitor.”

“That's horrible!” Solona gasped. “Why would she do that?”

Leliana shrugged, her shoulders rolling like liquid. When Solona shrugged, she always felt so clunky and awkward. Leliana always moved so smoothly, everything she did fluid and graceful. “I do not know. I was caught and tortured. Betrayed by someone I loved. I was at a very low point when I escaped. I came to Ferelden and found the Maker. You know what happened from there.”

“I'm so sorry, Leliana... Thank you for trusting me with this,” she said, grasping Leliana's arm.

Leliana graced her with a beautiful smile and hooked their arms together. “We are friends, no? It feels good to get that off my chest. No more lies between us...”

Solona grinned and bumped her side into Leliana. “No more lies,” she promised.

“Uh, Sol!” Alistair's voice carried from the front of the group.

She glanced up and saw a woman running toward them on the road. Her dress was shabby and torn, her lip bloody. “Help!” she cried. “They've attacked the wagon!”

Solona dropped Leliana's arm and the bard followed her lead, her bow in her hands with an arrow tucked loosely between her fingers. Solona watched the woman grab Alistair and pull him after her, turning to rush back the way she'd come. They all followed closely behind the terrified woman. When they ran up on the danger, Solona's eyes squinted as the previously scared woman strolled casually up to a heavily armed elf. The tall, lithe man with light blonde hair grinned at them over the woman's head. His skin was a deep tan that contrasted beautifully with his light hair. He had brown, swirling tattoos following the contours of his delicate features on the left side of his face. He wore simple leather armor, similar in make to Leliana's, but with much more intricate pattern work in the leather that was dyed a leafy green. He lifted his hand and swiped it to the side, an obvious signal. A loud cracking made Solona tear her gaze from the elf and look upwards. The huge tree along the side of the road was coming down behind them to block their retreat. It was an ambush. Wonderful. Several more men and women appeared, elf and human alike with crossbows and swords brandished, surrounding them and blocking all escape. Solona rolled out of the way of the tree as it crashed down, drawing her staff. In a thick Antivan accent, the elf shouted. “The Grey Wardens die here!” So not just and ambush, but assassins. Even better.

As Solona rolled to her feet, Leliana was already unleashing a flurry of arrows. Alistair and Sten had charged ahead to engage the closest attackers. Solona noted the slew of attackers on the hills to each side. The assassin had picked a basin in the road. A perfect ambush. She was actually impressed. She unwound her magic and sent a volley of ice into the group on the left. Small, deadly shards of ice ripped through the archers, knocking them back and killing one. She wielded her staff with precision, knowing that if even one of the attackers got near her, it was likely the end. Leliana was picking off any that got past the line that Alistair and Sten had created. Morrigan was handling the right side of the hills and Wynne was slowing any other advance with her glyphs. Solona took a calming breath and went back to her three archers that still stood. One took a fireball to the face. The other two, she picked up with a fist of the maker and slammed them back down on the ground. Only one got up and she threw a stone fist at his exposed gut. A cursory glance told her that they had prevailed. Alistair was standing over the tan elf who had apparently been the leader with his sword raised. She jogged over, shouting. “Wait!” Alistair stayed his hand with a glance and a raised brow. “Wynne, can you wake him up?”

The elderly mage smiled softly and her hands glowed blue momentarily. Her magic carried on the air to the assassin and he groaned, rolling from his back onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow without much care for his personal health at the moment. Solona stepped up in front of him as he grunted and rubbed his head. “Ugh, I rather thought I would wake up dead... Or not wake up at all as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet.”

Solona crossed her arms, “Yes, well that could still be easily rectified.”

He glanced up at her, his large brown eyes sparkling, though his voice was still strained. He did not attempt to stand or threaten, instead he smiled. “Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled. Though if you have not killed met yet, I assume you kept me around for some purpose, yes?”

“You are rather glib for a prisoner,” Solona pointed out.

His chuckle was startling. “It is my way... or so I am told. Let's see, then. I assume you kept me alive to ask me some questions, no? So let save you some time and cut to the chase. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.” He hung his head, but he did not seem particularly upset. In fact if she didn't know better, she would have judged his expression as hopeful.

“Well, I'm rather glad you failed,” she said, still watching him closely.

“As would I be... in your shoes,” he chuckled. “For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career.”

“Too bad for you, then,” Solona mocked.

“Yes it's true... Too bad for me,” he smirked, as Solona got the distinct feeling that he was undressing her with his eyes.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Who hired you to kill us?”

“A rather taciturn fellow in the Capital. Loghain I believe his name was. Yes, that's it,” he said furrowing his brow as if he was trying to think.

“So, does that mean you're _loyal_ to Loghain?” she asked, her fingers twitching with the urge to end the conversation there.

“I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?” He smirked again. “Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

“And now that you've failed that service?” she asked leadingly.

He chuckled lightly again. “Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows, and between the Crows and myself.”

“And between you and me?” she wondered.

“Isn't that what we're establishing now?” he cocked a brow.

She studied him for a moment and his general lack of concern. Here he was, on the ground, disarmed and surrounded by several heavily armed men and women, and he had barely batted an eyelash. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Why not?! I wasn't paid for silence... not that I offered it for sale, precisely,” he shrugged.

“Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?”

“Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further,” he offered.

“I'm listening, make it quick,” she rolled her wrist in the air in front of her in a bored gesture, though she had never listened harder in her life.

“Here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead,” he said quickly.

Her brows knitted together. “And can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you?”

“I happen to be a very loyal person! Right up until someone expects me to die for failing. That's not a fault, really, is it? I mean, unless you're the sort who might do the same thing. In which case, I... don't come very well recommended, I suppose,” he chuckled nervously.

“And what's to stop you from trying to finish the job later?” She asked, judging his every expression and reaction with a fine tooth comb.

“To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice in regards to joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child,” his haughty expression fell to one of brief sadness, so fast she might have missed it had she not been studying him so closely. “I think I have paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might just kill me on principle anyhow for failing the first time. Honestly I'd rather take my chances with you.”

So she was his way out. Did he expect her to rescue him when the Crows came looking for him? “Won't they come after you?”

“Possibly, but I know their wily ways. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need it,” he said, glancing around at all of the others, but his eyes settling back on her. “and if not, well... then it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?”

“So, if not protection, what do you want in return?” she asked.

“Well, let me see. Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line, should you decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

She glared at him for a moment more and thought about the other people she had brought into her fold. Leliana, a bard who had admittedly killed men. Sten who murdered an entire family with little remorse. Morrigan, whose mother was an ancient abomination. What was another killer? “Very well, I accept your offer.”

“What?!” Alistair gasped. “We're taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?”

She turned her gaze on him as he crossed his arms and she shrugged. “We can certainly use his skills. How long did it take for you and Sten to floor him?”

Alistair's eyes flicked between her and Zevran before his expression softened. “All right, All right, I see your point. Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said 'hello'.”

“A fine plan,” Morrigan purred. “I _would_ examine your food and drink more thoroughly from now on.”

“That's excellent advice for anyone,” Zevran chimed in.

“Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan,” Leliana said with a warm smile.

“Oh? Are you another companion to be, then? I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely,” His eyes roved over Leliana as they had Solona.

Leliana's warm smile was replaced with pursed lips. “Or maybe not.”

Solona leaned down and offered the elf a hand up. He stood before her, his back straight and his shoulders back. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you see fit to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear.” He offered a half bow and a grin.

Solona shook his hand with a small shrug. “Welcome to the team, I guess.”

 

They were attacked again on the road after four days of having Zevran following them. The assassin came in quite handy by being able to cloak himself in shadows so well that he was nearly invisible and sneaking up behind the leader of the group to hold a dagger to his throat. “Wait, don't kill him!” Leliana cried, and Zevran stayed his hand. Leliana looked to Solona. “These are no common bandits. You know what I am talking about, don't you?” Solona had noticed strange patterns in their fighting style and she nodded. Leliana approached the terrified man. “Who sent you?”

The man flinched as Zevran's blade bit into his neck. “I... I have no quarrel with you. Let me live and I'll tell you everything I know.

Solona crossed her arms. “Your life for information, then,”

“We were paid good coin. 'Kill the little red headed, girl. Do what you want with the rest'.” He recited.

Leliana frowned. “Why were you sent to kill me?”

“Do you think it's Marjolaine?” Solona asked softly.

Her gaze flicked from Solona and back to the man. “Did Marjolaine send you?”

The man started to shake his head, but seemed to remember the dagger and stopped. “I never got a name, just a dead drop letter with an address where I was to collect the rest of my earnings when the job was finished.”

His eyes flicked down to a pouch at his waist. Leliana stepped up and fished in the pouch. “It is in Denerim... We promised you could live.” Zevran's dagger disappeared. “I don't want to see you again,” she growled.

“Thank you. You won't. I promise,” the man said limping off to lick his wounds.

Leliana's hands shook as she read the letter again. Solona laid a hand on her forearm. “We'll find out what's happening when we get to Denerim. I promise.”

 

They set up a small camp just down the road from Denerim, so they would not need to find lodgings in the city. She and Alistair's armor was quite distinctive and as a show of trust, Solona sent Zevran ahead with coin to get them something else to wear when they entered the market district. After about two hours, he returned with a simple tunic and leather pants for Alistair and a rather revealing set of robes that he said he had gotten for a bargain from the tranquil proprietor of the Wonders of Thedas shop. The one piece body suit cut off on the sides just around the same place her small clothes did with a thin flap on both the front and back for a shockingly small amount of modesty. It hugged her curves all of the way to her shoulders Where small tufted fur pauldrons flared out and around her upper arms. The middle in the front was split to reveal her entire chest nearly down to her belly button, forcing her to wear nothing underneath to hold her breasts. The robes themselves did that job for her. She felt extremely uncomfortable as she came from her tent after slipping her legs into the thigh high, thin leather boots. How did Morrigan dress like this everyday? “I can't wear this,” she said, flushing as the elf examined her with great intensity.

“Nonsense, my dear Grey Warden. You look stunning. Every man, and likely, every woman as well, will not be able to take their eyes from you. The vision in velvet,” he chided.

“I know I can't seem to look away,” Leliana said with a teasing grin.

“Sweet maker,” Solona grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her and then realizing that the gesture showed more cleavage than she was comfortable with. She uncrossed her arms and flushed again. “This is ludacris. The idea is to blend in, not make everyone stare at my bits!”

“What about your bits... Oh...” Alistair said coming from his own tent dressed in the clothing that Zevran had provided him. The tunic was tucked loosely in the pants and he had strapped his sword on his hip. “Maker's Breath! Wha... What are you wearing?”

Alistair pointedly forced his eyes up from her chest and the tips of his ears went red. “It was Zevran's idea,” Leliana giggled, her tone still teasing.

“I need to ask Bodhan if he has anything that is a little more... more,” Solona said, making to run for the dwarf's cart.

Zevran tsk'd and Leliana grabbed her arm. “No! Zevran said the robes were enchanted, no?” With an appreciative nod from the elf, as his eyes blatantly dragged up and down her person, Leliana continued. “If you are not carrying your staff, you will need the added protection.”

“I hate to say it, but she is probably right, Sol,” Alistair said, shrugging and making certain his eyes were respectfully placed. It looked as though it was physically paining him to do so.

“Oh, not you too...” she sighed and threw her arms to the sides. “Fine, does anyone have a cloak?” Solemnly shaken heads all around made her sigh again. Zevran was having a field day. “Why didn't I just kill you?” she grunted.

“Ah, because I am charming and you know how to see an asset when it is waved in your face... Unless of course it is attached to your own...”

“Do not even think about finishing that sentence,” she growled, holding a hand up to stop him.

 

When she and Alistair entered the city, she was too busy looking up to worry about all of the people that were looking at her in the robes. Just inside the gates, they followed a wide passage that spilled out into the market district. The massive Chantry stood to their left, towering over the rest of the open air markets and little shops and smithy's set up in between the apartments and inns. Solona had never seen anything like it. People milled about, shopping or selling, children ran through the streets, playing, and pickpockets prowled in the shadows. “Keep a hand on your purse,” Alistair mumbled as they passed the Chantry and followed a back alley past some apartments to a massive gate that led toward the Alienage where the city's elves took up residence. Across from the Gnawed Noble Tavern, stood a small domicile. The address matched the one that Isolde had provided them for Brother Genetivi.

“Do you think he'll be home?” she asked, knocking softly on the door.

“When is it ever that easy?” Alistair asked with a grin.

“Don't remind me,” Solona sighed as the door swung slowly inwards.

“Can I help you?” a man asked, poking his head out the door.

“We're here to see Brother Genetivi,” Solona said with a polite smile. “Is he in?”

“I'm his assistant, Weylon. Unfortunately, the Brother has not been home in quite some time,” He opened the door and allowed them to step inside. “I can field any questions you might have.”

Solona moved past the man and Alistair kept tight on her flank. As she passed through the doorway, she frowned and stepped to the side to allow Weylon to lead them through the entryway and into a small room that served as dining and living room. She gripped Alistair's arm and whispered close to his ear. “There is magic at work here. I can sense it.”

He moved closer and returned the gesture. “You distract the assistant, I'll take a peek around.”

She attempted to hide the shiver that ran down her spine at his breath on her neck, and released his arm. Weylon turned to glance at them. “Can I offer you tea?”

“No, thank you,” Solona said with a courteous smile. She moved to sit on the long bench by the dining table and Weylon joined her. Alistair moved to pretend to study the books on the many shelves around the room. This was truly a house of a scholar. “We had heard that Brother Genetivi had been researching the whereabouts of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Our Father is quite ill and we were hoping for a miracle, as it were. Do you know where we might find the Brother?”

Alistair rose his brow at her at the 'our father' comment, but said nothing. “Well, as I said, the Brother has not been home for some time.” Alistair slowly inched toward a door at the back of the room. “I unfortunately do not know where he is.”

Solona bit her lip and then glanced at the man. “Would it be possible for us to see his research? We're desperate to find anything that will help...”

Before Weylon said anything else, he spun in his seat and growled at Alistair, “No! Don't touch that door!”

Solona flinched. The reaction was certainly uncalled for. Alistair dropped his hand away from the handle and his eyes flashed to Solona in question. “Please, if his notes could help us...”

“No,” Weylon insisted in horror.

“You're hiding something,” Alistair accused, having a better view of the man's expression at the moment. “What's back there?”

“You'll never find out!” the man shouted and stood to rush for Alistair, Solona reached for her staff but then remembered she hadn't brought it.

“Dammit,” she cursed, calling her mana and channeling through her palms the old fashioned way. She grabbed Weylon in her spirit hand and Alistair ran him through. “We need in that door. Don't touch it.”

She moved past the bleeding man on the floor and held her hand over the lock. “Is it booby trapped?” Alistair asked.

“Magically sealed,” she corrected. “Give me a moment.” She pressed herself to the door, trying to sniff out the source of the enchantment. When her mana reacted to a spot just below eye level on her left, she pressed her palm to the door just over top. A quick burst of mana shorted the enchantment and the door clicked open.

“You mages are so handy,” Alistair mused, heading into the study, his sword still in his grip. “Oh, Maker...” the smell of death hit her as well and she covered her nose and mouth with her palm as she followed him in. “The real Weylon, I assume,” Alistair said, his nose wrinkled as he pointed at the corpse in the corner.

“Check his things. Perhaps Genetivi left something behind that might point us in the right direction.” They shuffled through papers and books on the desks. In a large chest not far from the bed, they found a small notebook full of Genetivi's research.

“Let's get out of here. We can read in the fresh air,” Alistair suggested, tugging on her arm.

When they stepped back out into the harsh sun of midday, Solona breathed in the fresh air and tucked the small journal in the pouch at her hip. They walked together in silence, Solona taking in all of the sights of the city. She had never seen so many people jammed in one place, aside from the war camp. Suddenly as they passed a small home that was converted into a launderers as well, Alistair grabbed her arm and stopped her short. “What is it?” she asked in alarm as his eyes bugged out.

“ _That's..._ my sister's house. I'm almost sure of it. This is... yes, this is the right address,” he said craning his neck. “She could be inside. Could we... go and see?”

Solona looked down at what she was wearing and flushed. “Wouldn't you rather meet her on your own?”

His hand tightened around her bicep. “Do I seem a little nervous? I am. I really don't know what to expect. I'd like you to be there with me. If you're willing... Or we could... leave I suppose. We really don't have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go...”

He moved to walk away and Solona caught his hand in hers. “No. Let's go see if she's home...” she offered him a supportive smile.

“Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister... That sounds very strange... Sister... Siiiiiissssteeeerrr... mmm. Now I'm babbling. Maybe we should go. Let's go... let's just... go...” She tightened her grip on his hand and dragged him for the door. He caught up to walk beside her and she dropped his hand as she pushed open the door. Inside was small and damp, smelling like soap and linens. She glanced around the shop while he called out, nervously. “Err... hello?”

A bitter looking red head dressed in a thinning dress, damp in spots from working the washboards stepped out from the back room. She looked exactly like the woman from Alistair's fade dream. “Eh? You have linens to wash? I charge three bits on the bundle. You won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either. She's foreign and she'll rob you blind.”

“I'm... not here to have any wash done. My name's Alistair. I'm... well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I'm your brother...” he said tentatively, wringing his hands nervously. Solona was glad she had decided to accompany him. He needed a friend with him for this. She hovered a bit more closely to let him know she was there.

The woman's brows knitted together. “My what? I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

“He's telling the truth, listen to him,” Solona offered softly.

“Look, our mother... she worked as a servant in Redcliffe castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She...”

Before he could finish, the woman shouted in anger. “You! I knew it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!”

Alistair balked, taking a step back. “They told you I was dead? Who? Who told you that?” he was nearly pressed against Solona now, and she placed a discreet hand on his back to keep him from bolting.

“Them's at the castle! I told them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way. I knew it!” she shrieked.

“I'm sorry, I... didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him. I'm... your brother,” he sighed, his head drooping.

The woman scoffed and crossed her arms. “For all the good it does me! You killed mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back, they ran me off!”

Solona gaped and through her palm she could almost feel Alistair's heart breaking. It angered her that this woman could be so cold. “That's hardly Alistair's fault, is it?”

The woman's harsh eyes fell on her, taking in her attire and scowling. “And who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?”

“Hey!” Alistair tensed under her hand. “Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend and a Grey Warden, just like me!”

“Ohhhh, I see,” Goldanna taunted. “A prince and a Grey Warden, too. Well who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?” Her eyes narrowed and she pointed her finger at Alistair. “I don't know you _boy._ Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing! They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I've got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.”

“I... I'm sorry. I... don't know what to say,” he mumbled.

Solona stepped ahead of him, dropping her arm from his back. “Goldanna, Alistair came here hoping to find his family...”

“Well, he found it. And what good is that to me? None, that's what, unless he can see to it that his family lives as it should!” Her tone was getting more and more greedy by the second.

Alistair sighed. “I suppose maybe I could give her some money... for my nieces and nephews? Fifteen Sovereigns, maybe? Would you let me give her that?” he asked.

Solona almost balked at the small fortune he was offering up, but this was his choice and his coin. “Yes, go ahead if you like.”

He fished in his coin pouch and counted out the gold. “Then here, Goldanna... take this money. I know it's not much, but...”

“You... a prince marching in here with your fancy clothes and such and this is all you got to offer? You must think I'm very stupid,” she grunted, dropping the coins on a table beside her as Solona noticed.

“No, wait, I don't think that at all! I want to help, if I can...” Alistair stammered.

“You want to help? You go to whatever high and mighty folks you run with, and you tell them you've got nephews and nieces that aren't living as they've a right to. You do that!” She recrossed her arms and sneered.

Solona found her own lip curling back in disgust. “This is the family you were searching for, Alistair?”

“Mmm, yes. Apparently so,” he sighed again. “Then let me promise you this, Goldanna. I'll do whatever I can, speak to whomever I have to, to ensure you and your children are taken care of.” There was something dangerous in his tone that she had never heard from him before.

“Mmm. That sounds all well and fine, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't exactly hold my breath.”

Solona was enraged. Alistair was the most caring person she knew and here this woman was digging her talons into his purse, and he was letting her. Alistair, glanced at Solona and said once more, “You have my promise. I can't give you more than that. I... let's go. I want to go. Goodbye, sister.”

Alistair took a hold of Solona's arm and dragged her back out on to the bustling street. “I'm sorry,” she said, tugging him to a stop in front of the Chantry.

“That was... not what I expected. To put it lightly,” he said, turning to her and forcing out a chuckle. “I lived up to my promise, I suppose, but... this is the family I've been wondering about all my life? I can't believe it. I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I... I feel like a complete idiot...”

Solona's heart broke, right along with Alistair's. She had been raised in the Circle and she had learned some harsh truths in that time. It killed her to be the one that had to break this particular truth to him. She took his hand and squeezed before sighing. “Everyone is out for themselves. The world is selfish and cruel. I hate that you need to learn that.”

His blue eyes flicked up to her from where he had been gazing at her hands wrapped around his, and a slight frown wrinkled his brow as he cocked his head and studied her. “Yes I suppose you're right. I should learn that.” He sighed and, almost reluctantly, pulled his hands from hers. “Let's just go. I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Forget about everything for a minute. Let me buy you a drink,” she offered, tossing her head back towards the Gnawed Noble.

His brow lifted. “The tavern? Do you think that's a good idea?”

She grinned. “No one will notice two normal people buying drinks,” she said persuasively.

He snorted. “Me? No. You on the other hand... his eyes flicked down briefly.”

She snorted and waved her hand. “Let them stare. I... really don't care anymore.”

She stumbled back to camp with Alistair that night, disturbing the peace of the campfires as they laughed uproariously. Wynne huffed and guided them both off to bed amidst titters from the others.

 


	7. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost for centuries, will Solona and the others find the resting place of the Maker's Bride?

They spent three more days in Denerim, taking care of some other problems for her companions that involved confronting a very conniving Marjolaine. Solona was not impressed with the words that she said about Leliana. She tried to convince Solona that Leliana would eventually betray her, but Solona thought she knew Leliana well enough to have become friends with her. She wasn't fooled. Leliana became oddly quiet for a few days, her usual humming and happy demeanor buried under a thoughtful expression. On the morning that they were fixing to set out, Solona finally approached Leliana. “Oh, hello,” Leliana said sweetly. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Solona chuckled softly. “No, but it looks like _you_ wanted to talk about something.”

“It's... It's nothing. I'm fine. I'm just thinking,” she said with a sigh.

Solona stopped Leliana's busily packing hands with her own, drawing the woman's baby blue eyes up to her. “You're less talkative than usual.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I can't get what happened out of my head. I've been in Lothering for years and she still thought I was plotting against her. She didn't trust me. Maybe she never did. She loved me when she could use me and control me. And now that she can't, she wants me dead. It...hurts to realize that I never really knew her.”

Solona cocked her head and offered a small smile. “Perhaps you did, but you really didn't want to.”

“I knew she was ruthless, but I didn't know how far she could go.” Leliana pulled her hands back and balled them in fists in her lap. “She is self serving! Cruel! She uses people, then discards them, but that's how she survives in the life she leads. Wha... What if she's right?” Leliana gasped. “What if we're the same?! I... I should just have stayed in the Chantry.”

“But, you said that the Maker wanted you to leave... to help me...” Solona reminded her.

“I could have been wrong about the Maker... I... I know you doubt me sometimes...” Solona cringed, but Leliana pushed forward. “Maybe you're right! Maybe... maybe I just tell myself He's there to console myself.. to know there's someone watching out for me.... to know I'm not alone!”

“You're not alone, Leliana,” Solona offered her hands again, prying Leliana's fists open and gripping her tightly.

“But I was! I was alone and desperate when I fled to Ferelden. I went to the only place that I knew would take me. I forgot my life as a bard while I was in the cloister. I felt safe. I didn't have to watch my back all of the time. That's what made Marjolaine the person she is... Don't you see? It ruined her! It will ruin me too... Even now, I feel some regret over not ending her life in order to protect my own.”

“Not that I relish it, but that could be rectified later if she comes back...” Solona said softly.

“I know, and I've thought about pursuing her and... and I... I take great delight in these thoughts. What we're doing... What we've done. Hunted men down, killed them... part of me loves it. It invigorates me and this scares me. I... I feel myself slipping...”

“Marjolaine chose who she became. So can you,” Solona assured her.

“How can you be so sure?” Leliana asked.

Solona chuckled. “Evil doesn't worry about not being good.”

“You really think so?” Leliana smiled. “Hearing you say that gives me comfort... I would like to be alone for now. I have many things to consider. Thank you for listening to me.”

Solona nodded and patted the young bard's hands before getting to her feet and finishing her own packing. When she was done, she pulled out her map to plot their course. They needed to get back to the docks near the Circle tower at Lake Calenhad. According to Genetivi's notes, that was where he had been heading. The man who had visited their camp, Levi Dryden, had marked a point just north of Denerim as the entrance to the labyrinth of caves that led to Soldier's Peak. She frowned and took the map to Alistair. “Hey, can I pick your brain for a moment?”

He grinned. “Of course. I've been meaning to talk to you anyway.”

She cocked her head with a questioning look, but he waved her to go first. She held out the map. “Since we need to head west again, I was thinking we might want to meet up with Levi Dryden at Soldier's Peak first. The Keep might hold some Warden secrets we need for finding out how to defeat the Archdemon, like the ruins in the Wilds where we found the scrolls.”

“You may be right,” Alistair agreed. “If you think it's best...” he shrugged.

“I'm so happy for your input,” she said mockingly.

“I do my best,” he grinned.

“So what did you wish to talk about?” she asked, folding up her map and securing it in her pack. She was back in her comfortable Warden robes and feeling much more secure in her own skin.

He pressed his lips together. “You know, I've been thinking...”

Solona snorted. “I _was_ just about to ask you if you were feeling sick...”

“Oh, ho ho ho... funny, I'm sure... Just listen for a minute...” he said with a grin. “Back when we left Goldanna's, you told me I needed to lookout for myself more than I do. I'm beginning to think you were right. I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and think about myself for a change, or I'm never going to be happy.”

“It's about time, I say,” she said, her hand reaching out to pat his shoulder through his griffon shaped pauldrons.

He stood a little straighter at her encouragement. “Then from this point on, I'll be looking out for myself more. I should have done this a long time ago. I just wanted to thank you. Traveling with you has been the one bright spot out of everything that's happened.”

 _Wait, what?_ She gaped at him for a moment, trying to read his expression. When he started to frown, she realized he must have been expecting a response from her. She closed her mouth and rushed a smile. “I... I feel the same,” she said, kicking herself for the off putting manner in which she had delivered the phrase.

“Right, let's go. We've got a lot left to do,” he said, bending to pick up his pack and offer her a half smile.

 

The entire way to Soldier's Peak after they had met up with Levi, she had the opportunity to think long and hard about how she had screwed up that conversation. She was not certain if she had been wrong to think that Alistair had meant any more than he was glad to have her as a friend. She was frustrated and grumpy after Levi got them lost three times in the labyrinth. The keep itself was a welcome change. Having something to hit made her feel good. The veil was thin on the Peak, the ghosts of the dead giving them visions of the past, and bringing their corpses to life to attack them. Solona vented her frustrations on the walking piles of bones, raining fire down from the sky. She was likely making more of the situation than there was. Alistair had not acted strangely at all. He had treated her as he always had, making silly jokes and sharing stories of the Wardens she had never gotten a chance to meet. He was just Alistair. So why was it that every time she tried to think about something else, her bumbling words came back to haunt her like the souls of Soldier's Peak?

A vision inside the fortress showed them the Warden Commander at the time, Sophia Dryden, Levi's great great grandmother, had sanctioned the summoning of demons by another Warden under her command. This was the act that had sundered the veil. Levi was afraid to believe the vision. He wanted proof that his grandmother was not a bad person. Solona only knew that the veil needed to be mended, or the Peak would be lost for good and they would never find anything to help them with the Archdemon.

In the Commander's quarters, they ran into a very old and desiccated corpse, animated by the demon that resided in her flesh, the body rotting around it. Sophia Dryden had definitely seen better days. Solona craftily agreed to clear out the rest of the tower for the demon and set it free, if it would help her to repair the veil. She had no intention of allowing the thing free, but she needed the help. Luckily, the demon did not smell the lies on her and it gleefully helped them to mend the tears in the veil while they protected it's person from the attention they were drawing from the Fade. When the veil was mended, Solona and three others headed to the tower, across a narrow bridge, leaving the rest to keep an eye on the demon and protect their flank.

In the tower, they found a centuries old blood mage who had no right to still be breathing air. He had performed horrifying experiments on his fellow Wardens, mutilating them in an attempt to circumvent the taint. He told Levi everything he knew about Sophia in exchange for Solona allowing him to continue his research. The taint in her blood and in Alistair's blood meant their lives would end significantly sooner than most people. Eventually, they would succumb to the Calling and wander into the Deep Roads to die fighting, rather than going mad under the voices of the Old Gods like the Darkspawn. In the end, she decided to allow Avernus to continue his research, but he would need to find an ethical way to do so. She would send him no more test subjects. As a show of good faith, he provided her with a concoction that he had developed over the years that would turn her own blood into a weapon. With her use of mana, if she were cut or injured during battle, she could turn her tainted blood to her advantage, using it to cause spirit damage to an enemy. It would be most effective against Darkspawn, he told her.

When they returned to the Keep, the demon was enraged. It could not escape because Avernus still lived. Solona nodded with a grin at it's accusations and this angered it further, forcing a fight. The demon was trapped in a decaying body. Killing it came easily after all of the power it had expended to repair the veil. Levi sighed in relief as the demon crumpled. He was disappointed to not have any good news about his grandmother, but Solona assured him that no matter his family's past, she thought he was a good man. He took over the rebuilding and the maintaining of the Keep and promised to send them any information he came across.

 

They found their way out of the mountains and returned to the North road to make the journey to Lake Calenhad. Solona had two tasks there. Find out anything she could on Brother Genetivi and see if she could find out what might have happened to Sten's sword by picking over the battlefield.

Zevran was staring... again. It seemed his piercing eyes found little else interesting in the world. She tried to ignore him as she poked at her lamb and pea stew, but every time she looked up, his eyes were sliding up and down her body as if he were imagining what she looked like under her armor. Solona sighed and dropped her spoon down in her bowl. Ever since drinking the potion from Avernus, her nightmares had been getting more intense. She was sleeping less and less each night and the last thing she wanted to think about was the massive lust driven crush the assassin had on her. Solona was actually relieved when she had to crane her neck upwards when Morrigan stepped in front of her, blocking his view. The woman was fidgeting. Something that Morrigan never did, as a rule. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at Solona. “I have been studying Mother's grimoire. Do you wish to know what I have found?”

Solona calmly set her bowl in the grass and stood, forcing Morrigan to take a step back. They walked together, back to Morrigan's lean to and Solona cocked her head as Morrigan slowly wrung her hands together and her expression flip flopped between concerned and angry. “What did you find?” Solona wondered.

“ 'Tis not what I expected... I had hoped for a collection of her spells, a map of the power that she commands... but this is not it...” Morrigan confessed.

“Yet you look disturbed,” Solona pointed out, her own arms crossing over her chest.

“Disturbed? Yes perhaps that is the right word...” Morrigan mused. “One thing in particular within her writings 'disturbs' me. Here in great detail, Flemeth explains the means by which she has survived for centuries.” Morrigan knelt and lifted the book from the ground and came to stand beside Solona, pointing to the page she was referring to.

It still made no sense to Solona as she helped Morrigan to cradle the heavy book between them. Morrigan's black painted nails slid over the page, almost reverently, but they were shaking. “Let me guess... She drinks blood? Eats children?” Solona quipped.

Morrigan did not even bother to show her distaste for the joke with a sigh. Instead, he cocked her head to the side as she looked quizzically at Solona. “That is closer to the truth than you might think.” She took the book back into her arms and closed it sharply, causing a thwap of sound to echo across the camp. “Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of these many witches of the wilds throughout Chasind legend, though I have never seen a one, and always wondered why not. And now, I know...” She sighed deeply. “They are all Flemeth.” Solona frowned as Morrigan looked at her as if she should understand. Even being a mage, this was beyond her comprehension. When the expected 'oooh' of realization did not come, Morrigan set the book down on her pack and offered Solona a seat by the fire. They both sat and Morrigan rubbed her hands up and down her thighs before starting her explanation. “When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter, and when the time is right, she takes her daughter's body for her own.”

“Are you certain about this?” Solona asked with fascination. She had never believed that any magic like that could be possible.

“Indeed, that is primarily what this tome details. The various daughters that Flemeth has... acquired, their preparation and training. I recognize all of it. I... am to be her next host. This is my purpose.” Morrigan said, the shocked anger rising and the air surrounding them heating up as her magic flared with her emotion.

Solona resisted the urge to touch Morrigan. She knew the witch despised even the slightest handshake. A comforting hand to the shoulder may anger her further. Instead she calmly asked. “So why would she risk sending you with me?”

“I do not know,” Morrigan said shortly, her hands balling into fists. “Perhaps 'tis as she said, the Darkspawn threaten her as much as they threaten anyone else. Or perhaps she believes that this journey will make me more powerful. According to the tome, if the... host is already powerful and trained in magic, it takes far less time for Flemeth to... settle in.”

“So if you died, she would have another daughter?” Solona guessed.

“Not by any natural means. Perhaps I should take this as a vote of confidence from her on my capabilities...” Morrigan shrugged. Her head tipped forward as she stared into the fire, her bangs obstructing Solona's view of her eyes. “Or perhaps she simply wished me gone from the Korcari Wilds so she could prepare her ritual in peace... A disturbing thought.” Solona saw Morrigan's skin prickle in goose flesh. She hadn't known Morrigan to be capable of fear.

Morrigan was clearly sharing this information with her for a reason. Solona hoped it was because there was something she might be able to do to help. In spite of her best efforts to be a bitch, Solona actually liked Morrigan. No one deserved the fate of having their body snatched away from them. “So what do you intend to do about it?”

Morrigan looked up at Solona, her back straightening. “There is only one possible response to this! Flemeth needs to die! I will not sit about like an empty sack, waiting to be filled.” Her hardened resolve crumbled as she gazed at Solona and her eyes darted away, the golden flecks shimmering in the firelight. “Flemeth must be slain, and I need your help to do it.”

“Kill Flemeth? Isn't that a little extreme?” Solona asked cringing. She knew for a fact that abominations were not easy creatures to kill. Flemeth had survived centuries. Killing her would likely be nearly impossible.

Morrigan sighed. “It may seem so, if you think of Flemeth as a mother. Think of her instead as an ancient abomination that intends to use her own flesh and blood to extend _her_ life beyond all natural limits...” That was exactly what Solona was doing. “She did not wish _anyone_ to get a hold of this information, least of all _me_. Now I have. If I do not act on what I know, then more the fool am I...”

Solona agreed, wholeheartedly in fact. Morrigan deserved better. “Very well, I will help you, if I can,” she promised.

Morrigan exhaled a breath and a faint smile touched her full lips. “Then what needs to be done is for you to go back to Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds, without me. Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will be truly dead, even then, but it will take her years to find a new host and recover her power... if that is even possible. The thing I _must_ have is her true grimoire. With it, I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut, is yours.”

“I'll see what I can do.” Solona said gently and made to rise from her seat.

Morrigan reached out and gripped her wrist tightly. “I _am_ grateful... The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease.”

Solona patted the hand around her wrist and smiled. Morrigan glanced down at her own hand and snatched it away as if she was only just realizing what she was doing. Solona refused to take the scowl on her face personally. It was just Morrigan's way, as it was Zevran's way to still be staring when she returned to camp. Alistair and Wynne were talking quietly amongst each other, Sten and Barkspawn were apparently having a growling contest, and Leliana was contentedly humming to herself as she clipped feathers for fletching. Aside from Leliana, no one ever approached Zevran to even have a conversation. Solona supposed they distrusted him, but it wasn't fair to treat him as an outcast simply because of how they had met. Since making his oath to her, he had been rather agreeable to have around. He was funny, if a bit flirtatious, but as he had said, 'it was his way'. She stepped over her abandoned bowl of stew and made a beeline for the assassin. She exchanged a glance with Alistair when he looked up from his conversation as her boots shuffled past them. His smile was tentative when his eyes flicked from her to where she was heading with a hint of what she thought might be disappointment as he returned to his conversation with Wynne.

Solona dropped onto a stump beside Zevran's bedroll and the elf watched her with an amused grin on his face. The dagger he had been toying with disappeared and he carefully placed his hands in full view, resting on his knees. “Is there something you wish of me, my dear Grey Warden? Perhaps you wish to send me on another errand to fetch you some undergarments?” He winked. “Personally, I prefer to imagine you do not possess any such hindrances beneath that thick armor of yours.”

She snorted at the suggestion in his tone. “No, nothing so strenuous. I just came to chat. I've noticed the others are kind of avoiding you.”

“Do not concern yourself over me. I am quite content to sit and watch. Although a rousing conversation with a beautiful woman would be most welcome if you are willing to give it a shot,” he said with a grin.

He was nothing like how she pictured an assassin. Dark, mysterious, hooded, sure... But Zevran? With his boisterous demeanor and openly friendly attitude, he was certainly none of those things. With a nod of interest, she asked, “So... what does it take to be an assassin?”

He chuckled at her question, his hands never moving from their careful placement. It was a show of allegiance, one that said, 'look you can trust me'. “Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training. The sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them...” he shook his head, his lips pursing with a pouting expression that she could never have pulled off in her wildest dreams. “But quite frankly, the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field,” he shrugged.

“You did quite well, no doubt,” she said teasingly.

“Within the Crows, I did. But it has been something the Crows have devoted a great deal of time to perfecting. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible... Debilitate your foe, either by poisoning or by crippling their limbs, makes any followup combat you must engage in that much simpler.”

She nodded as he casually laid out the requirements for killing a man. “That sounds like it could be useful.”

He grinned in agreement. “See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery.” His voice lowered to a purr. “So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?” His nearest hand finally lifted from his knee to brazenly push one of her braids from her face.

She pulled back, flushing slightly as he smirked and returned his hand to its place. She cleared her throat and lifted her legs to tuck them beneath her, perching on the stump only slightly further away from him. “Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?” she asked, leaning her elbows on her thighs to prop her chin on her closed fists.

“Well now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?” he asked with a shrug.

“You didn't choose to join the Crows?” she asked with a bit of shock.

His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head at her. “Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows _existed_ when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased, for three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way.” A slight sneer of disgust made her think a bit more of the deadly man before her. He was only a year older than she had been when she was forced from her home and into the Circle. Circumstance had made killers of them all. He continued as if it was no big deal, but some expression she had given him in return caused him to relax his posture and draw his hands into his lap. “Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.”

“That sounds awful,” she gasped.

He smirked with a light chuckle he said, “Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the _benefits._ ” he drew out the word sensually before continuing. “In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. I get you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It is a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining.”

“Why didn't you just leave, then?” she asked curiously. Surely when he met her had not been the only opportunity he had ever had.

He tsked. “The only way to leave is for them to think you're dead, and even then, best be scarce. I have earned the Crows a great deal of money, yet none of it has come easy. As for what I'll do in the future, presuming that there is one, I truly can't imagine,” he said musingly. “It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.”

She grinned. “Well, I'm happy to have you along.”

He let out a loud uproarious laugh, “And here I am, happy to be had. Marvelous how things work out, isn't it? Now, let us move on to more pleasant topics. Talking about the Crows summons them. Any Anitvan fishwife knows that...”

They enjoyed a companionable conversation late into the night. Solona kept him up mostly to avoid her own bed and the inevitable nightmares that accompanied sleeping. Long after everyone else had turned in and the fire was beginning to dim, she asked him the question that had been bothering her from the start. His eyes were currently lingering along her neckline and his lips were raised in a cocksure grin. “Do you stare at everyone like that?”

“Not _everyone_ ,” he said lustily. “But a beautiful woman like yourself? Why not? I am sure you draw many stares from men, and even other women...” At her expression, he paused and his eyes centered on her face. “Does this bother you?”

“Not really... no?” she said unsure of just how it made her feel.

His eyes lowered to his own lap as an expression of understanding took over his features. “But you would prefer I desisted, perhaps? It would be difficult, traveling as we do in close proximity, but I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

She bit her lip. “I don't mean to be insulting... You're very handsome, but.. but I...” she paused, lowering her head into her palms.

His hand fell on her knee. “But there is another certain person who you would prefer to be undressing you with their eyes, no?” Her head shot up and her eyes bulged, but before she could protest the hand patted twice and he removed it. “Do not worry, my dear Grey Warden. Your secret is safe with me... and I am here if you wish to put on a show to make your fellow Warden jealous. I can be very convincing.” He winked and smirked before standing and brushing dirt from his backside.

He left her to ponder, slipping into his own tent. She dropped her head into her hands again in frustration. She was fooling herself if she thought Alistair wanted anything more from her than a friend and fellow Warden. There had been ample opportunities where each of them had put themselves out there only to have the situation laughed off with a joke or witty comment. She never knew when to take him seriously, but she was no better. Now she was convinced that her chance had been passed over. She sighed, resolving to push it from her mind. There were much more important things happening in her life.

 

Lake Calenhad was about a day away and Solona was shuffling along the road, her feet dragging through the dirt. Barkspawn was bounding around her legs, barking happily with a stick between his jaws and she was careful not to trip over the massive hound's playful circling. She took the stick from him and tossed it as far as she could, hoping for at least a reprieve from him inadvertently tripping her. “Are you alright, Sol?” Alistair's smooth voice asked as he matched his pace to hers.

She glanced over at him, the lie on the tip of her tongue. Before she had the chance, though, Barkspawn returned without the stick, barking wildly and motioning for her to follow him. She frowned, glancing at Alistair and the two of them took off to follow the war hound. Off to the side of the road in a patch of tall grass, he stopped and dipped his nose to the ground and pushed at something heavy. Solona jogged up to his side and saw a man lying supine, his arms and legs splayed out at odd angles. She gasped and dropped to her knees at his side. His face was familiar and she wracked her brain as she checked for a pulse.

“Isn't that Elric Maraigne?” Alistair asked crouching beside her. “He was part of Cailan's honor guard!”

She hadn't known the man's name, but now she knew why his face was so familiar. She'd met him at Ostagar. She found a severely weakened pulse, but a pulse none the less. He had been stabbed through the chest. “Wynne!” Solona called loudly.

The enchanter rushed to their sides, shooing them out of the way. “Step aside,” she muttered, her hands already glowing blue as she knelt. Solona watched in rapt fascination. She could never be as good a healer as Wynne. She calmly brought the man from the brink of death, shaking her head at the effort it was taking. When she had finished, the man groaned and coughed. “His lung was pierced. He will not live, but perhaps you may find out how he got into this state.”

Solona nodded and took Wynne's place by Elric's side. “Thank you,” he coughed, as Solona gently placed a hand over his shoulder to keep him from sitting up. “I didn't expect the Bann's men to notice my escape so quickly. I tried to hide here in the woods, but there wasn't time, now I'm a dead man.”

“What do you mean there wasn't time?” Solona asked with a frown.

“You were there in Ostagar,” Elric said, obviously recognizing her as she did him. “You know how things went. For me it was either this or die in some Darkspawn's belly or.. or be hung as a deserter...”

“You deserted?” she asked in curiosity.

“I daresay most people think the same of you and me, if not worse,” Alistair reminded her gently.

“I fled the battlefield when Loghain betrayed us. I abandoned my men and they died,” Elric choked, closing his eyes and a spray of blood staining his lips. “And Cailan with them... He was my King... my friend... Maker, all that time in Bann Loren's prison and I couldn't stop thinking about all they suffered that one dark night at Ostagar...”

“It's not your fault they died,” Solona soothed.

“I know,” he whispered. “Even had Loghain's men not turned their backs on us, the Darkspawn were too many. Even Cailan, for all his bravado, knew there'd be no victory at Ostagar.” He reached up and gripped Solona's clothes. “The King entrusted me with the key to the Royal arms chest... 'If anything were to happen to him', he said, It was vital I 'deliver it to the Wardens'.”

“Do you still have this key?” she asked, taking his clutching hand in her own.

“The Maker has a sense of humor, doesn't he? I suppose it's for the best, however. Had I kept it, it would be in Bann Loren's hands by now.”

“But... You said Cailan entrusted it to you,” Wynne accused.

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “I thought I would lose it on the battlefield, so I stashed it in the camp. Please, it's probably still there.”

“Where?” Solona demanded.

“The key's behind a loose stone at the base of a statue... I'll draw a map for you, so you'll know where to search...” Alistair quickly knelt and fished some blank vellum from his pack and Wynne handed him some ink and a quill.

While he drew, his hand shakey and smearing blood on the paper, Alistair looked to Solona. “You'll be taking me along, won't you? Call me sentimental, but I left behind some Darkspawn that really deserve a sword through the middle.”

“Events at Ostagar still haunt my thoughts,” Wynne said sadly. “If that is where we are headed, I would like to accompany you as well.”

Elric flinched. “It's vital that the King's documents do not fall into the wrong hands,” he said urgently. “As for Maric's sword, it's too powerful to be pawed at by those monsters... Same for the King's other arms and armor. And... and if you happen to find the King's body, see it off. He was our King. He shouldn't be left to rot amidst the Darkspawn's filth.” With one last shuddering breath, he shoved the crudely drawn map into her hands and his head sagged, his arms going limp.

She stood up, backing away from the body, her eyes falling to the map. Ostagar. Was it worth going back? If she was to be heading that way to help Morrigan, she assumed it would be a good idea to at least scope out and see if the Darkspawn had moved on. One more quest to add to her to do list. Alistair gently took the paper from her. “We should at least bury him,” he said gently.

Solona nodded. “Morrigan, could you help me pull up some of this dirt?”

Morrigan sneered, but she did as she was asked, combining her mana with Solona's to move the earth and create a shallow grave to place Elric in. Leliana and Alistair collected rocks while Sten lifted the man's body into the hole. Solona and Morrigan then replaced the earth and the cairn was built. Leliana sang his soul to the Maker and as Solona watched, her mind was a million miles away. She was so tired. She closed her eyes for a split second and lost her equilibrium. Stumbling to the side, her eyes flew open and she attempted to catch herself only to find that Zevran had already taken the liberty of holding her aloft against his chest. “My dear Grey Warden, it is not like you to swoon in the face of death. Is something amiss?”

She placed her hand on his chest as Alistair jogged up to join them. “Maker's breath, what happened?”

She thankfully patted Zevran and he released her without question. She stood on her own and glanced at Alistair, biting her lip. “I need to talk to you. In private, please.”

He pressed his lips together, his crystalline blue eyes intensely concerned. “Of course.” He led her a short distance away, watching her like a hawk. He stopped her in a clearing, his hands on her shoulders. “Sol, you look terrible. What's this about?”

She hugged herself, his hands still helping to hold her aloft. “How do you deal... with the dreams?” she asked softly, unable to meet his gaze.

His hands briefly squeezed tighter on her arms and it drew her eyes up to his face, but still she couldn't bear to allow him to capture eye contact. It was embarrassing. She was a grown woman having nightmares to the point of insomnia. “Hey,” he said softly. “It's okay,” he assured her, his tone understanding and warm. When she still wouldn't look at him, he huffed and one of his hands came off her shoulder to lift her chin. It was a gloriously intimate gesture and if she had felt anything other than exhausted, she might have wracked her brain as to what to do next. Instead her eyes flicked up to meet his and she felt the first pricks of tears welling up as true understanding slipped between them. “Duncan once told me that the dreams were apparently worse for the Wardens who take the Joining during a Blight. It's harder for them to block the dreams out. I try to look at it like this... we can sense the Darkspawn when they're nearby. If you're dreaming about them causing mayhem somewhere else, they are likely not going to be on top of you when you wake up in a cold sweat.”

She had to chuckle to keep from having a full on breakdown. “I suppose you're right.” She brushed the few escaped tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. “I've actually been taking watch shifts to avoid going to sleep. It has to end or I'll be useless.”

“ _Will_ be useless?” he asked with a chuckle. “You just almost passed out from one little earth spell. I'd say you're a bit far beyond useless.”

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah... again, you're right. I'll do better. I promise.” She stepped back to allow him some space and said, “Thank you.”

“Listen, Sol,” he said, calling her back to him. “If there's ever anything you need just... I'm here, okay?”

 

That night when they stopped for camp, Alistair personally volunteered to take watch duty and pointed Solona off to bed like a child. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She needed to break this dangerous cycle. She managed to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep due to pure exhuastion. When she woke, panting and her heart racing, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and left her tent to take in a few breaths of fresh air. Alistair was still on watch, his shift not due to end for another hour. She approached him quietly and stood beside him, huddled in her blanket. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Honestly, I'd rather just listen to one of your stories about the Wardens,” she said with a deep sigh.

He grinned and moved to sit down with his back against a nearby tree and patted the ground beside him. She sat down, leaning her head back on the rough bark and closing her eyes to listen to him talk. She didn't remember falling asleep again, but when she woke in the morning with a nudge from Leliana, it was to her head resting on his shoulder and Barkspawn between the two of them snoring soundly. The bard smiled warmly, her eyes studying the arrangement before Solona jerked her head up, wiping a small amount of drool from the corner of her mouth, her cheeks flushing a bright red.

Lake Calenhad brought only more questions. After inquiring at the inn after brother Genetivi, they were attacked by a group of cultists which pushed Solona to continue on to the Village of Haven that was mentioned in Brother Genetivi's notes. The battlefield where Sten lost his sword had been picked clean, but a man pointed them to a scavenger who spent most of his time in the Frostback mountains near the gates to Orzammar, hocking his ill gotten wares.

Haven was a few weeks worth of travel from the docks, forcing them around the lake instead of over it because they were unable to charter boats to cross. Solona had ample time to attempt to train her mind to ignore the terrible dreams. It was getting easier, but she still woke from time to time, shuddering and cold. They were attacked a few times by Darkspawn stragglers and ran into a traveling merchant as they traveled through Sulcher's Pass who gladly handed over a control rod that he said would control a golem that was said to reside in the Village of Honnleath. Solona kept the rod in her backpack, after realizing that Honnleath was only a day's journey from Haven. If they had time, she would go and see if she could get herself a golem. It might come in handy.

 

There was a strange aura about Haven. It was nestled in a valley just as you began to climb the Frostback Mountains. The people that milled about the village all scurried indoors as soon as they saw visitors approaching from the steep hill. One lone guard stood at the village entrance and he attempted to turn them away calling them lowlanders. Solona could smell lies on the man as soon as she mentioned Brother Genetivi. He allowed them access to the village, but only four of them. She grudgingly asked the others to stay behind, bringing Alistair, Leliana and Wynne with her. On the second level of the village stood the general store. They went inside under the guise of picking up supplies before moving on, but after being attacked on the docks of the lake, Solona planned on doing extensive snooping around in the village. While she questioned the merchant, Leliana attempted to take a peek in the back of the store, where a sickly sweet scent was wafting from. The merchant warned her away from the back, his nervously bulging eyes setting them all on edge. Solona called a small crackling of lightning to her palm and the man shied away. “It will be much easier for you if you just tell us what is back there.”

The man's face twisted in righteous anger before he pulled a dagger from beneath the counter he stood behind and swiped it at Solona. She felt the warm blood seeping down her face before she even felt the pain of the thin, razor sharp slice on her cheek. Alistair's sword was through the man's chest before she even reacted in outrage. She jammed a bolt of lightning through the corpse in anger as her face dripped blood onto her armor. Wynne quickly closed up the wound as Solona seethed. “That son of a bitch,”she growled. As soon as her face was fixed, she pushed past her concerned friends and stalked into the storage room. Just as she had suspected from the stench, there was a bloodied body shoved in the back of the room behind a crate and between two large sacks of flour. His shield carried the heraldry of Redcliffe. Another victim of the hunt for the Urn. “Somebody in this Maker forsaken village is going to tell me what the fu...”

“Hey now,” Alistair chuckled, cutting off her swearing. “We'll get to the bottom of this, but let's say we be more careful from now on. You could have lost an eye.”

She took a deep breath. Everything about this mad quest was making her angry. It was one dead end after another, and she was praying that she was not wasting her time trying to chase down a legend to save Arl Eamon. There was still the matter of finding the dalish elves and getting the dwarves' aid against the Darkspawn. All the while, the Archdemon was preparing.

Outside the store, apparently the alarm had been sounded. Solona was more than happy to greet the crazy villagers who ran at her with pitchforks and crudely made bows that shot wide more often than not. They had drawn first blood after all. At the top of the village stood the Chantry, proud and weathered. From the outside, they could hear what sounded like a modified version of the Chant of Light. Solona barged in to see a _man_ standing at the head of the crowd, ministering as if that were normal. “We are blessed beyond measure. We are chosen by the Holy and beloved to be her guardians. This sacred duty is given to us alone. Rejoice, my bretheren and prepare your hearts to receive her. Lift up your voices and despair not, for she will raise her faithful servants to glory when her...” Several heads turned to stare at them, all of the remaining villagers dressed in leather armor or heavy chainmail. The preaching man was a mage. Solona could taste his magic even from where she stood. He smiled warmly at her and said, “Ah, welcome. I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I trust you've enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

Solona snorted and made a point of brushing her finger through the blood drying on her cheek. The rest of her was also splattered with blood from the villagers below. “Enough! We're way past pretending this village is normal.”

The man crossed his arms. “Perhaps, but staying hidden means staying protected... And we must protect Haven and our charges at all costs. We don't owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty, failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven.”

Solona felt him draw on his power and she shouted a warning to her companions as the rest of the villagers swarmed them. Leliana swiftly planted an arrow in the 'revered father's' neck, knocking him back a few feet before he fell to the ground, gurgling. As he clawed at his neck, Solona felt the air leaving the room. She remembered that feeling. It had crept over her when Jowan had called on his blood magic back at Kinloch Hold. She panicked. The man was resorting to blood magic. She ignored the villagers trying to get at her through her barrier and swiftly spun her staff to slam into an approaching man with a sword. The head of her staff caught his gut, knocking him out of her path, then she pulled it back into her and continued the beeline through the chantry. A swirl of blood and mana trickled around the dying man as he attempted to save himself with the raw energy. She brought her staff up, looking down at the man before bearing down with all of her weight, backed with a spell, to jam the butt of her staff through his eye. She felt the wood scrape on the stone of the floor as his body went limp. She yanked it back, trying her best to ignore the stomach churning sucking sound as it popped free. “Solona!” Alistair called out and she spun to see the man she had hit in the gut recovered and running for her again. Somewhere he had lost his sword, a gash along his palm indicating that either Leliana or Alistair had gotten a piece of him.

He grabbed her by the throat, yanking her temporarily off her feet. She stumbled into him, her hands both coming up instinctively to claw at the tight grip he had on her throat, blocking her windpipe. Her staff clattered to the ground and the sound brought her back to her senses. She drew on her power, calling fire to her hands and she let go of his wrists and grabbed his face. She shoved the magic at him, burning his hair and flesh. He reared back, releasing her from his grip. He tripped on her staff as he attempted to escape her hands, but she rode him to the ground, melting through flesh, muscle and bone. The smell forced her hands away and she scrambled off his chest, watching as the fire continued it's job, his eyeballs turning to puddles of ooze as he screamed until his voice box was taken in the blaze. He twitched and writhed for a few seconds more as all activity in the chantry stopped. All eyes were on her and she looked down at her own hands. She had been holding back. All of her life she had held back. She was a powerful mage, but no one, not even her, truly knew just how powerful. When her life had been threatened, she had fought with everything she had and a simple fire spell had turned into a disturbingly deadly thing. All she had meant to do was burn him enough to get him off of her. Suddenly, a woman shouted and boldly rushed for Solona, a sword high above her head. An arrow whizzed across the room, planting itself in the woman's brain, and that was the end of it. The fighting began anew, the cultists seeking revenge for their fallen allies.

Solona stood at the edge, gingerly picking her staff back up from the ground and casting small bolts of lightning to defend her friends. She didn't have it in her to do much else, the shock of her full potential weighing heavily on her conscience. When the battle was over, Solona found herself dropping down to sit slouched over on the steps of the chantry's dais, her head between her knees. The others hung back, while Wynne glided to her side to sit down as well. “I never knew I could do... that,” Solona whispered softly.

Wynne's matronly voice glided out in a whisper, so the others could not hear. “My dear child, you are under a great deal of stress everyday. I have noticed the extra watch shifts you have been taking in spite of Alistair's very gallant insistence that you need more sleep. I also know what it takes to hold a power that can sometimes be a terrifying burden. Your magic is a gift, and you personally have been given a great gift. Irving was quite convinced that you would one day replace him as First Enchanter. Even at your age, your potential is pronounced. You have been through the trials of the Fade three times, to my knowledge, and each time you have fought through the lies and deception and come out the victor. Even though your gift can do things like... that,” she gestured at the charred corpse. “It can also do an exceptional amount of good. Do not concern yourself over one incident. Instead, use it to remind yourself that you are _not_ that monster that the chantry fears.”

Solona forced her eyes to look at the corpse. She absorbed the horror that she had caused, searing the image into her mind to keep as a cautionary tale. She dug deep down inside herself, to her core where her magic laid, harmless without her will. Her will was like iron. She would not become that. She had come too far, earned too much freedom to allow it to turn her into what they had witnessed first hand in the Tower. Making herself that promise that this would not break her, she turned her gaze on Wynne who was studying her closely, a patient smile on her face. She returned the smile if a bit tentatively, and nodded. “Thank you.”

Before Wynne could respond, Leliana called out from beside the wall to their left. “Solona, I don't mean to interrupt, but I believe I have found something.”

Solona looked up from Wynne and saw Leliana pressed against the wall, her ear to the stone. “What is it?” Solona asked, bracing her blood slicked staff on the ground and using it to help her stand.

“I hear whimpering. On the other side of the wall. I think it's a secret door,” she mused.

“Let's look for a release,” Solona said, moving to begin tilting books on a nearby shelf while Leliana tapped on the individual bricks, attempting to depress them like buttons.

Alistair tentatively hovered by Solona and she glanced at him as she wrapped her hands around a golden statue of Andraste. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

Her fingers absently fell from the statue briefly before she turned the same smile in him that she had given Wynne. “It's not everyday you discover your power is so strong that you can turn a man's eyeballs into soup, but...” She sighed and shrugged. “I think I'll be all right.”

It was a moment before he replied and she turned her attention back to the statue, again wrapping a hand around it. “I'll thank you for ruining soup for the foreseeable future. Remind me not to piss you off. I like my eyeballs where they are.”

She chuckled. “Well, no fear. I like your eyeballs, too.” As she shifted her weight, she pulled on the statue and it tipped forward. A loud click resounded through the chantry and where Leliana had been leaning on the wall, a hiss of air blew from the freshly opened doorway, ruffling Solona's hair. “Ooh, mystery solved,” she said.

She carefully pushed the door inwards and it caught on a mechanism and rolled into an alcove on the left, sliding open to reveal an entire room. In the middle of the floor, a man in his 50s laid on his side, his leg torn open and badly tended and bandaged. Solona approached him warily, taking in his starved and haggard appearance, and worn travelers clothes. “Who are you?” he asked in a raspy voice as if he hadn't had a drink in days. “They... they've sent you to finish it?” His eyes took in her bloodied countenance and an expression of calm acceptance washed over him.

“I'm Solona,” she said, realizing this must be the famous Brother Genetivi at long last. “I'm here to help you.” She knelt by his side, examining his wound more closely.

“You don't know how glad I am to see someone who isn't from the village. I...” he groaned in pain as she attempted to remove the bandage to see how they had treated his wound. “The leg's not doing so well,” he said with a sigh. “and I can't feel my foot.”

“Wynne, can you help?” Solona asked over her shoulder, easing out of the way.

Wynne nodded. “I can set the leg and ease some of the pain, but he'll need a lot of rest in order to heal.” She knelt in Solona's place and set to work, Genetivi gritting his teeth through the pain of her ministrations.

“I don't have time to rest now,” he said as soon as she was finished. “I'm so close. The Urn is just up that mountain.”

Solona put a restraining hand on the man's shoulder as her own excitement set her heart racing. “I need to find the Ashes. Arl Eamon gets sicker by the day.”

“The Arl is sick?” Genetivi gasped. “Will he live?”

“The Arl was poisoned under Loghain's orders,” she explained as he insistently tried to get to his feet.

He grunted. “Politics. Never did anyone any good. The Arl is a noble soul. But the Ashes... The Ashes will surely cure him. Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn. There is an old temple there, built to protect it. The door is always locked, but I know what the key is. Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door... I've seen what he does with it.”

Alistair was already heading out the door to search the man's body. When he came back, he held a bloody amulet on a chain. “This medallion?”

“Yes,” Genetivi smiled. “That is your key. Take me to the mountainside, and I will show you.”

Solona glanced at Wynne who shrugged mildly. “Are you sure you can make the journey?” Solona asked tentatively, returning her attention to Genetivi.

“It is not far... and if you would let me lean on you...” he said.

“Let me,” Alistair offered when Solona stood to help Genetivi to his feet.

 

Solona was amazed by the grandeur of the temple as they approached it from the hill. Snow covered the ground beneath her feet, making the climb mildly treacherous, but Brother Genetivi endured, barely leaning upon Alistair as they guided him to his life's calling. It was as if finally coming here without the 'help' of the cultists had given him new life. As if the Ashes were calling to him. At the still strong doorway, he took the medallion from Alistair and flipped it like a puzzle box, clicking different sections into place. Solona watched as he skillfully unfolded the key to allow them access. There was an aura about the temple. One that both matched and surpassed the strange aura that hovered around the village. It was not corruption that she sensed now, but purity. She breathed in the crisp, freezing air as Genetivi slipped the medallion into the slot and the door clicked open. Her companions stood beside her, all of them inhaling the same excited breath. Leliana was practically buzzing as she helped Solona push open the heavy door. They entered together, Genetivi sighing heavily as he patted Alistair in thanks, pulling away to stand on his own.

The entry way was as grand as she had imagined. The ceilings towered hundreds of feet in the air, supported by reaching pillars and flying buttresses that were slowly crumbling with the rigors of time. Great stalagmites rose from the floor, formed from the dust of the crumbling stone and the melting snow. Solona marveled. If they could clear out the cultists and they actually found the Urn here, would the Chantry come in and restore the once glorious resting place of the Holy Andraste? A large bonfire stood ahead in the deserted room blazing tall and adding a sense of warmth to the space. Genetivi broke the silence, startling Solona momentarily as his voice echoed through the enormous entry hall. “What I would give to have seen this hall in all it's splendor, as it was meant to be. Well, sweep away the ice and the snow and traces of beauty remain.” Traces? The entire place was still a wonder to her, in spite of the state of decay.

Even though she was enamored with the place, herself, they needed to be careful. There could still be cultists about. In fact it was rather likely. “It is wonderful, Brother, but we must stay alert,” she said calmly, training her voice so it did not echo as his had.

“I'm sorry, what...?” he asked tearing his eyes from the depths of the hall to gaze at her with a glassy eyed expression of pure fulfillment. “I was a little distracted. I apologize.” He moved to stand near one of the pillars, his limp pronounced, but unhindering. “These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know...” He ran his fingers reverently over the ancient chiseled dips in the stone. “I think I need more time to study these statues and carvings.”

As much as Solona wished she could join him in studying and translating the carvings, she and the others had a job to do. “You want to stay here? Is it safe?” She suddenly wished they had retrieved the others after clearing out the village.

He chuckled softly. “I could not keep up with you with my injuries. I should be safe. I don't think there are any villagers here. Go. I will be all right. Perhaps my destiny was only to lead _you_ to the Urn.”

Solona graced him with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Brother. Your help has been invaluable.”

“Bah,” he scoffed. “It's my job. Just... be careful, that's all I ask. The temple is... perilous. I will be here if you need me.”

Solona nodded and then set off, the others close behind her. Just past the large bonfire was a grand staircase that led up to a massive door, likely the entrance to the main hall. The door was locked tight and Solona's heart sank. “Perhaps we should search these other rooms for a key,” Alistair suggested, his hand falling on her shoulder.

She nodded and they carefully opened the door to their left. They were met by a group of the cultists, caught unawares. Leliana quickly dispatched two archers at the end of a hallway before their pet Bronto smashed its way through a door in the middle of the hallway and made to charge them. The large horn on it's nose nearly pierced Solona's gut as she danced out of it's path, calling ice to her palms to stop it's charge. Alistair bashed his shield into the beast's head, dazing it so he could get into it's space and thrust his sword upwards through the soft underside of it's neck into it's head. Leliana led the rest of the way through the winding hall way. The floors and walls were littered with traps to keep out unwanted guests like them. She deftly dismantled the tripwires and ushered them around the bear traps buried under carefully placed concealments. Every few feet there was another room branching off from the main hallway. The cultists had made these spaces a sort of barracks and there were quite a few of them to deal with as they tirelessly searched for a key to the entry door. There was more than one mage in their ranks and Alistair's templar abilities were invaluable. How had an entire village full of apostates that guarded the sacred resting place of Andraste escaped the Circle, and the Chantry's notice for so long?

On the body of one of the mages, Leliana found a key, but it did not look old enough to fit the lock. They also found a carefully wrapped tapir and Solona took that too, assuming that with the care it was given, it was likely important. They headed back to the entry hall, but sure enough, the modern key did not fit the lock. They moved back down the grand stairs and across the hall from the bonfire there was another door, more cultists had gathered to guard the way, something they needed must have been through that door. Solona stood on the stairs and raised her arms over her head, channeling her magic and bringing a rain of fireballs down on the cultists. It was easier than drawing attention to their presence and fighting. When the firestorm ended, they picked their way through the scorch marks on the floor and the charred bodies, Alistair having to mercy kill one of the bastards who had managed to survive the onslaught. Another long hallway was behind the door and they discovered in a small room to the right, a shining chest among a slew of other things that had been stored in the room. The key fit the lock perfectly and inside the chest was a much older and rusty looking key. Out of the hallway and back up the grand staircase, Solona slid the key in the well oiled lock and it turned easily, opening the way to the main hall.

The room was just as large as the entry hall and as they walked softly through the snow and dust, their boots stirred up the years worth of layers that the cultists had neglected to sweep away when they moved in. A strange sound drew Solona's attention behind her as they moved forward. When she turned to look, her eyes landed on a monstrous sight. The creature stood 8 feet tall, and she used the description loosely as it had no feet. It seemed to hover on the dust, it's lower body not much more than a sooty cloud. The rest of it resembled the skinned and gutted chest of a cow that you might see in a butcher's window, hollowed and curved with jagged bones resembling teeth running the length of it's body. Two spindly arms stuck from it's sides as if they were an afterthought to make it look more human. The effect was a waste. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face the threat. “Ash Wraith!” she called out, recognizing the creature after having seen a likeness in a book she had read during her apprenticeship.

Her voice echoed noisily through the massive hall and the sounds of fighting as she and her companions defended themselves from several of the dusty creatures, made their presence known to a group of more cultists led by a blood mage. The wraiths became an afterthought as they defended against the mage. He stood at the top of a tall flight of stairs, giving him the advantage of high ground. Alistair attempted to use a holy smite to render the mage useless, but he did not channel his magic through the mana in his chest. He used blood. Solona stepped up, encasing him in a crushing prison while they dealt with the archers he had brought with him. Her spell left him huddling on the ground, his energy sapped, but not gone. She pulled back her arm, her fingers tracing the intricate pattern to call a single dense bolt of lightning down on him. She balled her fist and pushed her hand forward. The bolt slammed into him, leaving him a smoking heap.

The tapir came in handy for unlocking the door that stood behind the dead mage. There was a brazier standing tall before the door and no amount of coaxing would light it until she lit the tapir and touched the burning end to the wood piled in the pit. The fire blazed to life and the door clicked open. There were several rooms between them and the mountain pass that the temple opened up into. Throughout these rooms, they began to notice more and more statues and dedications to Andraste, among the persistent groups of angry cultists.

Once the man made halls spilled out into the rocky tunnels beneath the mountain, Solona began to feel trapped. She had never spent any time underground, but she found she did not appreciate that much rock above her head. How the dwarves lived like this, she would never guess. The sense of walls closing in around her intensified as they began to run into more cultists who apparently were keeping pet drakes and dragonlings. By the time they worked their way through the maze of tunnels and cultists, Solona and the others were sporting burns and bite marks and scorched armor. The tunnels were a dragon haven. After hours of climbing caverns and fighting with fire, Solona was sweating and exhausted. Her friends did not fare much better. They had backtracked several times when the tunnels had come to dead ends and they had taken the wrong forks. Her calves were on fire from the constant up hill climb. When they came to a cavern lit by daylight, she sighed in relief, only to have that relief snatched back when they were confronted by a large bearded man carrying a large two handed axe. He and four others barred their path. Solona noted two mages in the back ranks and she stopped in her tracks as the man held up and hand and in a demanding tone shouted. “Stop! You will go no further!”

Solona was well beyond caring what these people were doing in this sacred temple and she crossed her arms angrily, her fingers already twitching with spells that she slipped quietly into her staff. “You will stand aside if you wish to live,” she growled.

“The righteous do not fear death! You have defiled our temple. You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young. No more! You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this! Why have you come here?” He stepped up into her space, their bodies inches apart. Alistair stepped up to stand at her side, an angry grunt warning the man against getting any closer. She also heard an arrow slip from Leliana's quiver and the groan of her bow as she took aim, drawing back.

Her eyes never left the threat as all of this happened around her. “I have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes!” she revealed.

“You did this all for an ancient relic!? Know this, stranger...” He turned away and paced back to his men, Alistair breathing a sigh of relief. “The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now. What hope do _you_ have?”

The man was barking mad. He approached her again as he shouted, not quite so close this time, but still encroaching. Solona snorted and rolled her eyes. “I wish to see this arisen Andraste!” she challenged.

The man shook his head. “None but the disciples may approach Andraste. She is not ready yet, but when the time is right, She will descend upon the nations in fiery splendor, and all will know Her!” He shook his fist in confidence. Solona was convinced that she could see the very second the idea crossed his mind as his fist loosened and he brought it to his chin to scratch at his beard thoughtfully. “But... Perhaps there is a way to make up for your recent transgressions.”

“And why is it you're so suddenly willing to cooperate with me?” she asked disbelievingly. It was a trick. It had to be. Alistair thought so too if his hum of warning was any indication. He had not moved from his protective spot at her side and she was glad to have him there.

“It may be because I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light,” the man said with a shrug, his tone inviting an non threatening in spite of the guards behind him still poised to kill should she refuse whatever he offered. “Perhaps through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy will become Her greatest Champion.”

“Or perhaps...” Solona said with a shrug of her own. “You're just delusional.”

Outrage twisted the man's face and his voice rose again to a ragged shout. “You know nothing! Andraste revealed Herself to us! We are the Chosen! To arms, my brethren! Andraste will grant us victory!”

Before he even finished ranting, Solona had her staff in her hands. She fade stepped away from the swing of his massive axe and proceeded to ignore him to take on the two mages. She erected a protective barrier around herself before unleashing the spells she'd stored in her staff. The closest mage she knocked off his feet by pulling up the earth beneath him, while he struggled to regain his footing, she traced a glyph in the air before her and pushed shards of mana through the structure to turn to ice and fly from the other side, seeking both mages with precision. Cutting one to swiss cheese, and slicing a gash in the other's robes as he danced out of the way. She was ready with a dispelling charm that drained the man's mana and giving a small amount of it back to her. She used the extra reserves to slam him to the ground with a fist of the Maker, and she raced to his side to arc her staff head along the ground before him and then unleashing the wall of ice that pierced his head and neck so rivers of blood dripped down the white ice as his body twitched.

A cry of pain drew her attention back to the rest of the battle. Her heart almost stopped in her chest as she saw Alistair fall, the cultist leader's axe buried in his gut. Rage took over all sense and she rushed the man as he yanked his axe free. Wynne and Leliana were engaged with the other two men and Solona slammed into the leader, knocking him away from Alistair. She swung the heavy head of her staff upwards to smash into his jaw and channeled lightning through it simultaneously to send a bolt directly through his brain. He fell to the ground and she slammed a fist of the Maker down on top of him, drawing blood with the force of the spell as it crushed his chest. For good measure, she flung a winter's grasp at him and then hurled a stonefist at him to shatter his frozen body. Without a second thought, she rushed to Alistair's side, dropping her staff to the ground and pressing her hands over the bloody ruin of his stomach. Tears flooded her eyes as he laid unconscious. “Wynne!” she shouted, her voice sharp and ragged. Her own healing powers sparked and died as her panic over took her concentration. “Wynne!” she shouted again and the woman appeared at her side.

“Please move to the side,” Wynne requested, her tone ridiculously calm. Solona feared to release the pressure she had placed on the wound. As she sobbed in defeat, Wynne sighed and took her hands away physically. Leliana's arms snaked under her own arms and she lifted her to her feet and out of the way. She spun around, falling onto the other woman's arms, imminent grief welling in her gut and making her sick. She couldn't lose him. Not now. It was too soon. She'd only just found him. Leliana hummed soothingly but she barely heard, turning back around to watch Wynne as she worked her magic. Her hands glowed bright in the darkness of the cavern as her eyes closed under the strain of the use of so much mana. Solona pulled away from Leliana, reaching out to place her hand on Wynne's shoulder and pour her own remaining mana into the equation, careful to not overdo it. She knew she was carrying a deeper reserve than the elderly enchanter. The flesh on Alistair's abdomen slowly knitted together under Wynne's gentle touch. Even after the wound was gone, she pulled on more of Solona's power to dig deeper into the injury and help speed up the healing beneath the surface. Solona offered everything she had. If it would save him, she would give herself. She didn't care if he felt that way for her. She had fallen hard. When the drag on her mana ceased, Wynne glanced over her shoulder with a grateful smile. “It is quite the shame that you are unable to channel creation magic. You would be a spectacular healer with your reserves.”

“Will he be all right?” she asked shakily, dropping to her knees beside the still unconscious Alistair. Her hands absently found his face, the blood still slick in her palms tracing a line down his cheek. He stirred at her touch, his eye lids fluttering. Wynne pulled her hand away from him and placed a healing draught in her grip instead. “Alistair,” Solona whispered, her free hand resting on his chest, leaving a hand print on his cuirass, smudging the shining silverite.

His eyes slowly opened and he groaned, the deep wound likely still paining him. There was only so much a healing spell could do. “Ugh, well, that was unpleasant.”

Solona uncorked the potion Wynne had given her and helped him lift his head, moving so it rested in her lap. Her hands shook as she poured the small amount of liquid into his mouth, a bit catching on his lips. He licked it away as she said, “At least your eyeballs aren't soup.”

He chuckled and then hissed as he pressed a hand to his gut. Her own hand instinctively moved to steady him and their fingers accidentally twined together. She ignored the accidental intimacy while her other hand soothingly ran through his hair. His eyes scanned the battlefield slowly and when they landed in the remains of the leader, he looked back at her. “You did that?”

She shrugged, knowing now that he was going to be just fine thanks to Wynne, and brushed her cheeks dry, replacing the tears with smears of blood. “He tried to kill the only other Grey Warden in the country. You think I can kill the Archdemon by myself?”

He resisted the chuckle, but his mouth opened into a toothy grin, belying his amusement. “I'm touched, really.”

She glanced at Wynne and then back at him. “Do you think you can stand?”

He nodded. “That potion seems to be working. I don't feel like my guts are going to flop out onto the floor if I stand.”

She moved from beneath him and remained crouched to help him sit up and then using her legs, helped to support him as they both stood. His weight fell on her momentarily and she allowed him to rest his head on her shoulder as he regained his equilibrium. “Easy,” she soothed as he stumbled. “Nice and slow. You lost a lot of blood.”

“No more than he did,” he joked, his head nodding toward the slowly melting remains of the shattered man as the pools of blood began to form.

“You can say that again,” she mused backing away from one of the pieces as the blood seeped into a crack to chase her receding feet.

It took a few minutes, but Alistair slowly was able to stand on his own two feet with only a slight grimace showing the pain he was in. She picked up his sword and heavy shield and they had a brief argument over whether he could carry them that his pride would not allow her to win. She grudgingly handed them over and Leliana handed her the staff she had abandoned in her panic. “Let's go find out what these men thought they were protecting,” Leliana said gently as Solona watched Alistair closely.

She pressed her lips together as he gestured that she should go. She was concerned about what they might meet outside the cavern, but she had a sneaking suspicion she already knew what it was. Her gut instinct was rewarded when they crested the hill that led out of the cavern. The ground outside the mountain was littered with angry scorch marks and the air smelled of sulfur. Definite signs of a dragon. An echoing flap of wings drew her attention and she watched as a High Dragon flew over head to land on an outcropping across the pass. Under her feet, she breathed a bed of fire onto the ground before lying down to nest in the blaze, her great wings wrapping around her body. Solona took a brief moment to lean over the rail of the man made bridge they stood on and gaze at the creature. She had never seen a dragon before. At least not in person. She was a magnificent creature, the embodiment of raw power. “Maker's breath,” she whispered in awe.

As beautiful as the dragon was, Solona had no wish to get a closer look in the form of the dragon noticing them. They crept along the scorched earth, careful not to make a sound toward a second building carved into the side of the mountain itself. Inside, the atmosphere of the area radiated with a peaceful hum that made Solona feel relaxed and rejuvenated. The small entry hall was barely a fraction of the size of the one in the temple, adding humble to her list of descriptors of the place. They were stopped before they could leave the room by a man dressed in heavy, ancient looking chainmail and a helm resembling those that the templars wore today. His appearance was fuzzy, only drawing your attention if you looked directly at him, but his glowing blue eyes pierced into her very soul when he set them upon her. “I bid you welcome, pilgrim,” he said, his voice wavering and dual toned as if he were speaking on two planes.

“Who are you?” she asked with great curiosity. Nothing about him made her feel as if he were a threat as the cultists had.

“I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this,” he said, almost sighing.

“For me?” she asked, feeling as if he was telling her that it was her destiny to come here.

“You are the first to arrive in a very long time. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting, I have been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea,” he explained.

He had to mean Tevinter, Andraste's greatest enemy. The people who had succeeded in burning her at the stake. “The Imperium is no longer as powerful as it once was.”

He graced her with a hopeful smile. “Ah... is it not? Then perhaps this is the beginning of the end...”

“Who were the men who had taken over the rest of the temple?” she asked, wondering where the cultists had come from.

“When my brethren and I carried Andraste from Tevinter to this sanctuary, we vowed to forever revere Her memory, and guard Her. I have watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their fathers. For centuries they did this, unwavering, joyful, in their appointed task. But now they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise,” he said sadly.

“I would like to see the Urn,” Solona asked with reverence.

He tipped his helmed head. “You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy.”

Solona wrung her hands. “But what if I am not worthy?”

“Then you will not come to the Ashes. It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The gauntlet does that,” he said softly. “If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not...” he trailed off, further description unnecessary.

“All right,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Let's get this over with then.” The word gauntlet meant she would face a series of trials. She did not really fancy the idea of dragging Alistair through quite so much in his condition. He was walking better, but his face was still pinched.

“Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past... your suffering, and the suffering of others. Jowan was discovered by the templars... you were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?”

She fidgeted as the Guardian reached into her past and plucked at the guilt in her heart. Biting her lip, she answered truthfully. “Yes. There must have been something more I could have done.”

“Thank you. That is all I wished to know,” The guardian said with a pleased smile.

“You are too hard on yourself,” Alistair said softly from her side. “No one's perfect.”

“Accept your failings, but do not let them govern your life,” Wynne remarked.

“You could not have known what would happen. You did what you thought was best,” Leliana agreed.

The guardian turned his gaze on the others. “And what of those that follow you? Alistair, knight and Warden... you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died, and not him?”

Alistair hung his head, his hands coming up to trace idly over the more recent of his near death experiences. “I... yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance, maybe...” he sighed deeply and her mind screamed to comfort him. Things would not be better for her, that was for certain.

Before she could say a word, Wynne stepped in to take the attention from him. “Ask your question, Guardian. I am ready.”

“You are ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past? Perhaps you are only a tool used to spread the word of the Circle and the Chantry. Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?” he asked.

Wynne sighed. “You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers. There is no sense in hiding, is there? Yes, I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely certain of himself.”

“And you...” he turned a sharp gaze on Leliana. “Why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself Her equal?”

“I never said that! I...” Leliana sputtered.

“In Orlais, you were _someone_. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative.”

Leliana's mouth fell open and her brows knitted together in a frown. “You're saying I made it up, for... for the attention? I did not! I know what I believe!”

The Guardian nodded. “The way is open. Good Luck, and may you find what you seek.”

Solona took hold of Lelaian's hand, squeezing it as the Guardian disappeared. He had really reamed her more than all of them. She had no idea what was ahead in the gauntlet, but the questions he had posed seemed to be set forth to rattle them and get their minds on something other than the task at hand. When Leliana gave her a bitter smile and a nod, she dropped her friend's hand and squared her shoulders. The past was the past. Jowan had made his own bed she could not dwell on whether she could have saved him from himself.

Through the door behind where the Guardian had stood, they stepped into a much larger entry hall. On either side of the hall between each set of support pillars stood a spirit, locked in place. To their left, the spirit looked like a woman in her fifties, and she beckoned them to her. Solona cocked her head as she approached the spirit warily, uncertain of what to expect. Were they friendly, illusory, or simply a test? The woman spoke, her voice issuing forth with the same echoing duality that the Guardian's had possessed. “Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?”

“Ooh, riddles,” Alistair mused as Solona scrambled to repeat the words in her head. She had not expected a riddle and was unprepared.

“Could you please repeat the question?” she asked. The spirit smiled, nodded and repeated her riddle. Once she heard it again, the answer was obvious. “Dreams,” she stated with confidence.

The spirit nodded. “A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping tears for a daughter she could not save.” Then her body flashed a bright white and she reformed into a wisp that floated to the door at the far end of the hall. When she passed through, the door clicked once.

“It seems we must answer riddles from all of the important people who touched Andraste's life,” Leliana said, glancing at the remaining spirits.

“I'm terrible at riddles,” Alistair groaned.

Solona shrugged. “I defeated a demon of sloth at a riddle game during my Harrowing.”

His brows rose and he grinned. “A demon of _sloth_?”

“Oh shut up,” she said backhanding his arm playfully. “My true test was the demon of pride that was following me about, trying to convince me that the demon of rage was the test. One compliment too many had me raising a brow in doubt. Not very clever if you ask me...”

They approached the spirit across from Andraste's mother. It was a young woman dressed in a simple peasant dress. Without introduction, as before, she spoke. “The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?”

“What sort of a riddle is that?” Alistair complained.

“A tune,” Solona said immediately.

The spirit nodded. “Yes. I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard Her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then She sang no more of simple things.” She wisped away to the door.

“How are you so good at this?” Alistair asked.

“Life in the tower got pretty boring. In my free time, I studied poetry, lymericks and riddles to occupy my brain,” she confessed, flinching when Wynne gave her a sideways glance as she insulted the Circle.

The next spirit was a harsh looking woman with her red hair drawn up in a tight bun. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?”

“Oh! That one's easy. Vengeance,” Alistair said proudly.

“Yes,” The spirit replied. “My husband, Hessarian, would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear She would die publicly, with Her war leaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength. I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood.”

Another click came from the door and they crossed to the next spirit. He was a bald, elven man, dressed in dalish armor. “I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be... in this place, I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?”

Solona frowned for a moment before answering. “Home?”

The spirit nodded happily. “It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we.”

The next spirit was dressed in clothing she recognized as belonging to the Avvar people. His riddle was slightly more complicated. “A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart. From love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?”

Solona wracked her brain, trying to find the answer and coming up blank. When she grunted in frustration, Leliana said softly. “The answer is jealousy.”

The spirit nodded and Solona glanced at Leliana who was clearly remembering the feeling first hand. “Yes. Jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarri, but beside Her I was nothing. Hundreds fell before Her on bended knee. They loved Her, as did the Maker. I loved Her too, but what man can compare with a god?”

“Are you all right?” Solona asked Leliana as they made their way to the next spirit.

“Of course I am,” she said with a smile.

A man in Chantry robes spoke next. “The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?”

“Bones of the world veiled in white...” Solona mused to herself. “Oh! Mountains!”

“Yes. I carried Andraste's Ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains to the east where She could gaze ever into the Maker's sky... No more fitting a tomb than this could we find,” he explained before wisping away.

Another man in Chantry garb was next. “No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”

After a few moments of contemplation, both Solona and Alistair said at the same time, “Hunger!” She glanced at him and they exchanged a smile. They had discussed the increase in appetite that came with the Joining not a fortnight ago.

“Yes. Hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies. I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us.”

“One left,” Solona said, recognizing the man before they even approached. Archon Hessarian. The man who had burned Andraste at the stake, but found it in his heart to end her suffering before she burned alive.

“She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?”

“Mercy,” Solona said confidently. It was the only answer that made sense for this man.

“Yes. I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering, and mercy bade me end Her life. I am the penitent sinner who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him.”

When his wisp sped through the door, the door clicked open and a groaning sound issued from the centuries closed hinges. “That was desperately easy,” Solona sighed, wondering what other trials the gauntlet had in store for them as she passed through the door.

On the other side, she was shocked to see Jowan standing there smiling widely at her. “Had fun with the riddle game?”

“Is that...?” Alistair said quizzically as Solona frowned, knowing it was impossible for the real Jowan to be here.

“You're not Jowan,” she accused.

The smile never faded as he spoke. “I didn't think I'd fool you. But am I really a spirit? Or is this all in your mind? Are you in the Fade, perhaps? Honestly I don't know. I am part of the Gauntlet. I am Jowan. I am you. All these statements are true.”

“So, why are you here?” she asked, her arms crossed.

“To speak to you and to offer advice. You have wondered, many times, if what happened to me was your doing. Perhaps if we had taken another route, or we'd been more prepared, things would be different. But it is too easy to obsess over 'what if' and 'what could have been'. These thoughts will eat away at you, if you let them. Forgive yourself, just as I have forgiven you.” He offered his hand to her, a small amulet dangling from his grip. “I have something for you. Use it well. It makes me happy, knowing you will be the mage that I never could.”

She took the amulet from him, feeling a healing aura surrounding the small gem, and he was gone, the image of his smile burned into her mind. Alistair's hand fell on her shoulder comfortingly as she slipped the gem over her head to join her Warden amulet.

In the next room, they were greeted by spirit versions of themselves who attacked on sight. Solona barely hesitated as she felt every injury that the spirit took as if it were her taking them. She had to have faith that the end result would not kill them all. The true battle happened in their hearts and minds. She cringed, clutching her heart as Alistair thrust his sword upwards through the spirit's heart. His own expression as he looked over at her after doing it, was one of abject horror. She smiled at him in reassurance that she was okay and he turned away from her, his expression grim. When they all came through, unscathed physically, the door clicked open to allow them entry to the next test.

Solona passed through first, her mouth mumbling words that were not her own thoughts “Andraste loved Her disciples as She loved the Maker. As we have faith in the Maker, so must we have faith in our friends.”

Alistair supported her as a wave of dizziness passed over her as the instructions slipped from her lips. “Uh oh. I'm terrible at puzzles.” They passed into the room and saw a great gaping chasm before them. It was surrounded by twelve platforms, six on each side and no way across to the other side. As she studied the set up, Alistair's hand slipped off her shoulder and lingered down her back as he stepped away. “Hey, you see those... thingies over on the side of that huge chasm? I bet they're used for something. Maybe I should touch them. Or stand on them?”

Leliana chuckled softly. “Alistair, normal people tend to avoid strange looking sections of floor 'thingies', as you say. They tend to be traps.”

His face paled at the thought. “You... er... don't really think they're traps, do you?”

Leliana shrugged. “There is only one way to find out.”

She boldly moved to the right, inching toward the first odd colored platform. When she placed her weight on the tile, she ducked low in case something shot at her, but instead of a trap, a strange ethereal tile appeared in the middle of the chasm, floating above the hole. “I can see a bridge,” Wynne pointed out. “But it is clearly incorporeal. There's no way to cross on that.”

Leliana moved cautiously to the next tile and then the third before the incorporeal bridge appeared at the edge where they stood. Solona knelt and ran her hand through the strange tile and pondered. Getting an idea she said, “Alistair, go stand in one of the 'thingies' on the opposite side of the room.” More bridge tiles appeared as he stepped on the opposite tiles. When he was directly across from Leliana on the third tile, Solona stopped him by raising her hand. The tile before her seemed to solidify.

“That's it!” he said excitedly. “That's an actual bridge piece, right there! If we could get all the bridge pieces to be solid, we can make it across.”

“One down,” Solona agreed.

When Leliana attempted to move from her tile to light up the next piece, the first one turned incorporeal again. “Wait,” Wynne said. “ I think we need to remain on the tiles and light them all.”

“There aren't enough of us,” Alistair pointed out.

“We need to try. Wynne, would you join Leliana on the right, and I'll...” When Wynne moved to the fourth tile and a second bridge piece appeared. Solona moved to find the proper tile to solidify it. She was on the sixth tile on the side that Alistair was on. “Okay that is two solid. Leliana, try to move again, please.” The tiles again disappeared and Solona resisted the urge to curse. Suddenly the words that had passed over her at the entrance floated across her thoughts again. “Faith,” she mumbled and an idea crossed her mind. She left her tile and asked Leliana to return to hers. When the first tile solidified, she stepped onto it and stood in the middle. Her heart began to race as she looked at Alistair and said, “Now you go where I was standing.”

“Are you mad?” he asked with a strangled chuckle. “If I move, that tile will disappear!”

She shook her head, her hands trembling and her heart nearly beating out of her chest. “No. I need to have faith. Please, Alistair. Trust me.”

His shoulders slumped. “I do trust you. Maker's Breath, are you sure?”

“Yes. Go stand on my tile,” she assured him.

With a sigh, he agreed. She faced forward, closing her eyes and breathing in as she heard the double click of him leaving the mechanism. When the world didn't fall out from under her, she exhaled the breath and opened her eyes. “Thank the Maker,” Alistair said as she grinned at him. He stepped onto her old tile and the floor ahead solidified and she stepped forward. Wynne was making the next tile an option also, so Solona had Alistair move again until he stood on the first tile on the left. The floor solidifying beneath her.

They were one tile away from being across. “Leliana I need you to find the first half of the last one,” Solona requested. The bard swiftly passed Wynne and on the fifth tile, her final incorporeal tile appeared. “Alistair if you would...” He moved to the second tile and the one before her was complete. She stepped onto it and across to the landing, her breath coming out in terrified pants. A strange clicking sound greeted her and she realized as Leliana left her tile that the Bridge did not disappear, but allowed them to cross over to join her.

“Maker's breath,” Alistair repeated. “Andraste only favored the clever it seems.”

“We're close,” Solona said between catching her breath. “Can you feel that?” The others nodded in agreement and she pushed up from where she had leaned her palms on her knees and continued forward. Through a cobweb filled hallway and out a door, there stood an altar that was nothing more than a simple slab of rock. A wall of flame stretched across the entire room, barring them from continuing. Solona approached the altar and noticed words etched into the stone. She read them aloud. “Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar: be born anew in the Maker's sight.” She gasped at the implications of the words.

“What is it?” Alistair asked, his one brow rising as he didn't grasp what she understood.

“Um...” she glanced back at Wynne who smiled softly and nodded, propping her staff against the wall. She sighed and she could feel the flush of heat as it rose to her cheeks. “We can't cross the flames unless... we're...” she covered her face and couldn't finish.

“Naked,” Leliana offered with a smirk as she began to unbuckle the strapping on her armor.

“Oh,” Alistair said shortly, and then as it sunk in, he repeated himself. “Oooooh...” Solona sighed and began to fiddle with her own belt. Leliana had no qualms whatsoever, as she stripped all of her clothing. Solona deftly avoided anyone's gaze and kept her own eyes focused on her own task. She could hear the others' clothing and armor falling to the floor as they stripped, but she refused to let her eyes wander. When she finally pulled her small clothes off, she was grateful that Zevran was not there to ogle everyone present. It would have turned an awkward situation into an unbearable one. “And this is me not looking,” Alistair said as he passed by her peripheral vision.

“Is everyone... ready?” Solona asked as she kept her eyes straight ahead and resisted the urge to glance down at the man's rear. She had imagined it was glorious, but this was not the way she wanted to find out.

They all agreed and stepped up to the wall of flame. Solona boldly lifted her arm to stick her hand in the fire. When it did not burn her, she proceeded to step inside and through it. Heat wreathed her body, but the flames simply licked curiously at her skin without scorching her. It was surreal. She had never been this close to fire that she had not personally conjured. When she stepped through to the other side, the loss of the heat hardened her nipples and her skin raised in goose pimples. The Guardian was waiting and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest as he spoke. “You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet. You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy pilgrim. Approach the Sacred Ashes.”

The flames receded, allowing them back through to gather their things at a nod from the Guardian before he disappeared. Solona had never dressed more quickly in her life. When she was finished, she risked a glance around. Leliana was adjusting her gloves, Wynne calmly shouldered her pack and Alistair fidgeted with his cuirass. His face was as red as she knew hers was. She averted her gaze again and began toward the large raised dais at the back of the hall. Two statues of Avvar stood sentry on the floor while at the top of a ten foot staircase stood a tall statue of Andraste, a ball of flame burning impossibly in her fist. Light shone through a window high up on the wall to the left, casting the statue in a bright Holy light as if the Maker were still looking down on her from the heavens. At the foot of the statue stood a simple golden urn. It looked much like any urn that Solona had seen before. As she approached her heart was infused with a feeling of pride and acceptance. She had succeeded. Andraste was accepting her. She felt the need to drop to a knee and bow her head and she did so briefly as the others approached behind her.

Leliana gasped. “I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes... I.. I have no words to express.” That was new. Leliana had a way with words that only some of the best bards could surpass.

“I didn't think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place...” Alistair said in awe. “But here... here She is.”

Wynne's hand fell on Solona's shoulder as she stood. “I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will never forget this feeling...”

Solona stared in reverence at the Urn, feeling as if disturbing the Ashes was blasphemous, but the Guardian had said they were to take a pinch for themselves. With shaking fingers, she pulled a small leather pouch from her belt and loosened the strings that kept it closed. She lifted the lid of the Urn, setting it to the side. The hole was large enough for her to easily slip her hand inside and gently grasp a bit of the ashes within. Her heart raced. How much was too much? How much would they need to cure the Arl? She allowed some of the ashes to flow from her grasp until the flow ceased. She did not want to waste any of what was by far the Holiest thing on the planet. She carefully held the pouch to the lip of the Urn and brushed the ashes from her fingers and into the pouch. After securing the pouch back in the safest pocket of her armor, she brushed the remaining ashes on her hand back into the Urn and replaced the lid. Backing away, she silently gave a short prayer of thanks.

And then it was over. She breathed a ragged sigh before turning and following the stairs back down. Two doors flanked the dais and she took the one to her left. It led them back out to the large open valley in the mountain where the High Dragon still slept peacefully. To the right of the bridge where they had come out, there was a small obscured door. Hoping it was a shortcut past the maze of the temple and the caverns, she decided to give it a shot. She was suddenly exhausted. The Gauntlet had been a bigger strain on her than she had realized. Coupled with the fighting and almost losing Alistair, it had been a very long day.

The door spilled them into a short passage to another door that opened out into the entry hall where they had left Brother Genetivi. Solona and her companions headed down the grand staircase and Genetivi greeted them in excitement. “Welcome back! You were gone for quite some time. Well? Did you find it?”

Solona silently pulled the pouch from her pocket and showed it to him. “Is that... oh, there is some dust on... no that's not dust... Oh, Maker... I'm not worthy to look upon...” He glanced up at Solona who could not help but smile in spite of her weariness.”What... what was it like? Coming to the Urn, I mean?”

“Nothing has ever quite touched me so deeply,” she said, still not truly believing that they had found the Ashes of Andraste. She slipped the pouch back in it's place.

“You are a very fortunate person. And so am I,” Genetivi said, throwing his arms wide to encompass the temple. “Perhaps my research will not seem so much like blasphemy to the Chantry now. We must organize an expedition. There is so much history here. It must be studied. And... and pilgrims should be allowed to come to the Urn...”

Solona bit her lip at his excitement, her stomach clenching. “Do you think that is wise? Many will try to exploit this discovery.”

He frowned. “But the Urn belongs to all the faithful. How can you deny this to them? No... we must share it.”

“I agree,” Leliana said softly. “We cannot withhold this from others. It is not our place.”

“You have noble intentions, Brother Genetivi,” Wynne said softly. “but can you say the same of your brethren in the Chantry?”

Alistair took the opportunity to snort. “So everyone comes by and takes some ashes from the Urn? I hope that Urn is self replenishing.”

Brother Genitivi, grunted his disapproval. “I will spread this good news, or die trying.”

Solona's hand briefly twitched over a dagger that she had stored in her belt, but she immediately realized that was unnecessary. “If anything bad comes of this, it's on your head, Brother.”

He sighed in relief, apparently noticing that she had reached for a weapon. “I must return home. I have much to do. If you ever find yourself in Denerim, please visit me. I am not a rich man, but I have a small collection of... interesting artifacts, and I do owe you a reward for coming to my rescue. I hope to see you soon, my friend.” He turned from her and she wondered as he hobbled off on his still injured leg how he planned on getting home. They were going to be camping near the village for the night, she assumed, and if he needed them, he would come. He had gotten there on his own after all.

 


	8. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and a new companion

They left the temple and found their way back to the village. It was strange to pass through the now desolate streets. They briefly stopped in the store to take a few things they might need for the road and Solona spotted a handsome pair of finely crafted leather boots that claimed they were from Antiva. The night that she had spent talking to Zevran, he had reminisced about his home country and how he loved and missed the smell of the leather. She thought they would make a nice gift for him, so she placed then in the sack she had taken from behind the counter that she had already placed a few wrapped loaves of bread and some cheese in. When they left the confines of the village, Wynne and Leliana walked on ahead, laughing and talking among each other. Solona watched them with a smile, knowing that the two women were very grateful to have been there to witness Andraste's Urn.

She was jogged from her thoughts as Alistair began to talk to her. “So all this time we've spent together... you know the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... will you miss it once it's over?”

He glanced at him with a raised brow before snorting and brushing a finger over her cheek. “It makes me tear up just thinking about it,” she said sarcastically.

He laughed at her comment, his face lighting up at the teasing lilt in her tone. “There'll be no more running for our lives, No more Darkspawn...” he paused and groaned. “And no more camping in the middle of nowhere.” He slowed his pace, allowing the others to get a bit farther ahead of them and then he stopped all together. She stopped as well, cocking her head at him. “I know it... might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to... care for you. A great deal.” He paused as her heart started racing. Before she could respond, he pushed ahead, “I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself.” He reached down and took her hand, his expression hopeful. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way about me?”

She tightened her slack grip on his hand and a grin spread over her face. She had never dreamed he might feel for her as she did for him. “I... I think I... already do,” she gasped, the surprise of his confession clear in her tone.

He smirked. “So I fooled you, did I? Good to know.” He used his grip on her hand to pull her closer to him, then he dropped her hand and his found it's way up to slip his fingers through her hair. He pulled her as close as they could get and pressed still uncertain lips to hers. When she responded in kind, he deepened the kiss and she dropped the sack she was carrying to wrap her arms around his neck, the rations and Zevran's boots all but forgotten. His hand stayed in her hair, pulling gently on the braid in the back. She plunged her tongue in his mouth, the weeks of pent up lust she'd had for him oozing from her body. She then realized that she was being a bit forward and she pulled away from the kiss, remembering his inexperience. The smile on her lips was far from gone though as she breathed in lungfuls of air and swallowed her heart that was pulsing in her throat. He smiled as well, brushing her hair from her face. “That... that wasn't too soon, was it?”

“I don't know,” she said, her hands trembling as she ran them down his chest. “I need more testing to be sure.”

“Well, I'll have to arrange that, then, won't I?” he said with a chuckle. Then his laughter smoothed and he gazed into her eyes. “Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man.” After he realized that they had stopped in the middle of the road in full view of anyone who might pass by, his eyes flicked away quickly before returning to her. “Now...” he cleared his throat. “Let's get back to... what we were up to before. Lest I forget why we're here.”

She joined his self deprecating laughter before she bent to retrieve her sack, then kissed his cheek. “We'll talk more later, in private. I promise.”

“I look forward to it,” he agreed, falling into step beside her.

 

The camp that the others had set up was not much farther down the road. When they stepped across the perimeter, Barkspawn jumped up and ran to her, barking loudly and drew attention to the fact that they had been a suspiciously long time behind Leliana and Wynne. She knelt to stuff a bone in his mouth that she had picked up at the store and he barked around the obstruction before heading off to the edge of camp near her tent to gnaw on the treat. She attempted to hide the flush in her cheeks as she joined the others by the fire where even Morrigan sat listening to Leliana describe the temple in great detail. The witch's eyes fell on her momentarily before rising to glance at Alistair who's cheeks were also mildly reddened. A sour expression wrinkled her nose as the possibility of what had happened dawned on her. Morrigan and Alistair flat out hated each other, trading bitter and angry jibes with each other every chance they got. Of course the thought of being romantically involved with him would turn her stomach, but Solona refused to allow Morrigan's opinion to ruin the euphoria she was riding on. The Blight felt distant as she thought about the press of his lips against hers. Alistair was none too discreet as he took a spot right beside her and they exchanged a glance and a knowing smile, the redness returning to her cheeks as she grinned like an idiot right there in front of everyone.

Luckily, most of the assembled group was wrapped up in Leliana's story and did not notice her stupid grin, or his for that matter. Later, after they had washed up and had supper, she sorted out her loot from the store and left Zevran's boots in the sack. She wandered over to the elf who had taken first watch with Barkspawn. “I have something for you,” she said offering up the bag.

He cocked his head and she had to push it toward him again before he tentatively took it from her grasp. He opened the sack and peered inside. “Hmm... that smell...” he pulled the boots from the bag and admired the craftsmanship. “This is Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know that anywhere!” He chuckled in delight as he set them down beside him and began to remove one of his other boots. “I don't know how you found it, but thank you!”

“You're quite welcome,” she said, enjoying the giddy smile in his face as he slipped the boot on his foot.

“And they fit as well, marvelous! Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home!” he laughed again.

She patted his shoulder and laughed at his joke before leaving him to put on the other one. She headed back toward the fire where Alistair was sitting. He noted her approach and glanced around for prying eyes before waving her over to join him. “Hey, I'm sorry about earlier. I should maybe be a bit more discreet for the time being,” he said as she sat down beside him.

She shrugged. “I'm pretty sure our tardy arrival back at camp was noted by just about everyone as it is... I'm not saying we shout it from the top of the Circle tower, but if anyone sees or figures us out, I don't see why we should deny it.”

He grinned and chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his. “Did you see Morrigan's face? It was like she bit into a lemon.”

Solona joined his laughter. “I know. Maker forbid... feelings...” Solona stuck out her tongue and shuddered mockingly.

His knee lingered closer to hers and his pinky slipped around hers. They sat in their discreet, friendly bubble for a few moments, simply enjoying their new closeness. Solona had been trying to smash down her feelings for weeks, ignoring every innuendo and comment he made and playing them off as friendly banter. Little did she know that the entire time, his teasing had been meant the same way hers had. Suddenly, Leliana came from her tent in little more than a long tunic that hid her small clothes. Solona instinctively jerked her hand and knee from his and as Leliana passed by, she giggled merrily. “You two are not fooling anyone, you know.”

She did not bother to keep her voice down and a chuckle came from where Zevran sat, sporting his new boots. When had he climbed the tree? He called down from the limb. “It is true. I knew the second you stepped into camp. Those rosy cheeks and the pout of both your lips. A first kiss was shared, no?”

She flapped her hand to shush him, but in lieu of his words, Alistair laughed out loud. “So much for discretion.”

Sten poked his head from his tent. “Parshaara! Some of us are trying to sleep. Is it necessary to discuss fraternization at this hour.”

“Indeed my grumpy friend. This is the best hour to discuss fraternization. The moon is high and there is a chill in the air that yearns for the press of two bodies together,” Zevran teased.

“Sweet Maker,” Solona growled. “That's it. I'm going to sleep.”

She stood to escape the teasing, but before she got far, Alistair was after her, grabbing her arm. “As long as everyone knows...” He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle goodnight kiss. “I will see you in the morning, my dear.”

She couldn't help the smile that spread over her face even as Zevran laughed loudly and Leliana reappeared at the edge of camp gushing like an apprentice. “Ohh, that is so adorable.”

 

Honnleath was located just south of Redcliffe and a few days east of Haven. As they approached the village, Solona cringed as the familiar whisper of Darkspawn nearby began to slip through her head. “Do you feel that?” she asked as Alistair's hand tightened in hers.

“Darkspawn,” he confirmed, reluctantly releasing her hand and drawing his sword and shield. Along the road into town, decorative archways stood to welcome travelers. They were not so welcoming anymore as several of the villagers swung from nooses high above their heads. The bodies could not have been more than a day old, judging by the near lack of decomposition. Solona took the lead, stepping beneath the swaying corpses and into the first circle of houses. A few frightened villagers came running from further in the village, screaming and fleeing in terror as a group of Darkspawn loped after them. Two genlocks and a hurlock to be precise. Solona stopped the monsters in their tracks with a wall of fire, allowing the villagers to get ahead. This drew the Darkspawn to her and Alistair engaged the large hurlock by bashing it away from her with his shield and then swiping at it with his sword. She twisted her fingers for a petrification spell and the two genlocks swiftly turned to stone. She slammed one with a stone fist while Sten shattered the other with his greatsword. When she turned her attention to Alistair, he was pulling his sword from the hurlock's gut, his foot holding the corpse to the ground. She grinned and he returned the expression before they waded further into the village through a sea of Darkspawn. They all seemed to be coming up from a basement entrance near the village square. There were bodies of villagers strewn all around the town, but Solona was not counting nearly as many as she expected. Then she spotted what they had come for. In the middle of the village square, surrounded by a low wooden fence and some overgrown grass was a massive golem. It stood easily 8 feet tall, it's arms raised over it's head and a look of frustration and anger frozen on it's face. It had several crystals peppered around its hands and shoulders that Solona could feel the magic pouring from. The golem had been extensively augmented. When they hit a break in the darkspawn, Solona dropped to her knees and fished the control rod from her backpack. She stepped over the short fence and approached the massive stone beast.

She bit her lip, hesitant to activate it, but as her companions gathered around her, she was imbued with a sense of confidence and she raised the control rod and spoke the words that the merchant had given her. “Dulef Gar.” When nothing happened, her shoulders slumped. It was about as disappointing as when the Rod of Fire had failed to activate near the door to the Phylactery Chamber when she was helping Jowan. She shook the rod and repeated the code, but still nothing. She sighed heavily and stuffed the rod in her belt. “Let's just go and see if we can plug whatever hole those Darkspawn are coming from.”

Alistair offered a short rub of his hand up and down her back, his fingers lingering on her lower back for a moment before they followed the others toward the door to the basement. The home had clearly belonged to a mage if the texts and artifacts in the basement were any indication. There was a pile of bodies near the basement entrance and Solona glanced away from the festering wounds that had been inflicted by the tainted weapons of the Darkspawn, her stomach turning over. They fought through a few small groups of Darkspawn before they found the large hole they were crawling up from. Solona and Morrigan combined their will to bring a huge pile of earth from the surface to plug the hole and then piled some of the cracked boulders from the stone floor over top to seal it. They continued further into the basement to be certain there were no more entry points and discovered a group of villagers huddled behind a magical barrier as the Darkspawn shrieked and slashed their weapons at the barrier, trying to get to the group. Solona and her people easily dispatched the Darkspawn and she approached the barrier, looking for the mage that was maintaining it.

One of the village women shouted in excitement “By the Maker! We're saved!”

A man standing beside her cocked his head and Solona recognized the tug of magic from him. “You weren't sent by the Bann, were you? To save us?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm a Grey Warden.”

“A Grey Warden? Here? Thank the Maker for our luck! But if you weren't sent by someone, why are you here? If you don't mind my asking,” the mage said, his eyes narrowing.

“I came looking for the owner of the statue in the square,” she explained.

“The statue outside? Why would... ah, I think I see... You bought the control rod, didn't you? You came here looking for Shale...” he lifted his arm with a sigh and his fingers flicked in a pattern that allowed passage through the barrier. The rest of the villagers ran at the nod of his head, and Solona touched her fingers to the barrier in wonder as it reacted to her touch, but still allowed her access. “That damnable golem brought us nothing but trouble. My mother sold the rod years ago after it killed my father, and good riddance.”

“Killed your father? What do you mean?” she asked, knowing that golems were not inherently violent or capable of disobeying their masters.

The mage turned around from his pace away from the barrier and regarded her. “My father's name was Wilhelm, mage to the Arls of Redcliffe and a hero in the war against Orlais. And what did he get? One day, my mother found him outside the tower, with so many broken bones she could barely recognize him, and Shale standing over him just as it is now. My father deserved better than that. But if you really want to wake Shale up... Well, it's yours now.”

“Except the rod doesn't work. Nothing happens,” Solona explained.

The mage crossed his arms and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My mother might have passed along the wrong command phrase when she sold the rod. She said she never wanted to see Shale active again... Look, I'll tell you the command phrase... but I need your help, first. I know you already saved my life, and I'm grateful, but my daughter is inside the laboratory. She was afraid, and ran too far in before I could stop her. I don't know how she made it past my father's defenses. One of the men tried to go after her. He was killed. But... you could find her, couldn't you?”

Solona immediately decided to help. She had a soft spot for children, always willing to go above and beyond to save a child. “What killed this man who went after her?” She wanted to help, but she could not go in blind.

“There are defenses my father put down here to keep strangers out. I knew about the barrier, I had the key for that, but the rest of it? We never came down here. Ever,” he explained.

Solona placed a comforting hand on the man's arm. “I'll see if I can find her.”

“You will? Thank the Maker!” the man shouted, ushering her attention to the door behind him. “My father's laboratory is just past the next area, I think. She has to be there.”

When Solona saw the tight squeeze of the hall through the doorway, she slimmed her party down to Alistair, Zevran and Morrigan, leaving the others to keep watch. They eased through the narrow hallway, Zevran on point, alert for any traps that might be awaiting them. They were attacked by a few shades and dust wraiths as they went along, finding the body of the man who had tried to follow the mage's daughter. The veil was extremely thin in this place, making her nose twitch. She noticed some more of the crystals scattered around the place like the ones that had been added to the golem. She gathered up the ones she saw, dropping them in her pack in case they were able to activate the golem. It may know more about the function of the crystals.

When they finally reached the end of the winding hallway, there was another barrier. This one, Solona noticed as she passed through, was demon specific. A small voice rose from the bottom of a staircase leading into a room with a strange puzzle on the floor “What do you mean you've never climbed a tree? Don't cat's like to be in trees?” Solona descended the stairs, noticing a young girl of about ten, kneeling next to a cat. Her blonde hair was done in pig tails and she giggled happily. When she noticed people approaching her, she stood. “Oh, look! Someone's come to play!” She looked up at Solona as Alistair and Zevran flanked her and Morrigan began to skirt the room to get a better look at the puzzle. “You _have_ come to play, haven't you? We're playing a guessing game. It's better with more people.

“We?” Solona asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked around the room. There was definitely magic here, but she could not pinpoint the source due to the sheer amount of conflicting flows. “Who is 'we'?”

The little girl giggled. “Kitty and me, of course! You don't see anyone else here, do you? Anyway, you should go if you're not going to play. Kitty finds you distracting.”

“The cat... finds me distracting?” Solona asked, beginning to see what was happening here.

The girl nodded, kneeling to stroke the cat's fur. “Kitty is clever. She says you'll want to take me back to my father, but I'm not going. She would be lonely!”

The cat purred loudly, arching it's back into her hand. “You are so kind, Amalia. I would miss you dearly if you left.”

“The cat... talks...” Solona said, trying her best to not frighten the child by pointing and shouting, 'demon'!

“Of course, silly!” Amalia said with another giggle.

“Talking is simple enough, once you know how,” the cat purred it's eyes glowing an eerie purple, making Solona realize that it's voice was in her head, not physically coming from the cat's mouth.

Solona nodded and smiled politely. “Amalia, you need to return to your father.”

The cat made a strange noise and Solona realized it was laughing. She shuddered at the off-putting sound. “Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you. She loves only me now. I am her friend, while you are just a stranger.”

“A stranger who finds you very interesting,” Solona agreed, crossing her arms.

The cat stood and took a step toward Solona. “Oh? Did you hear that, Amalia? I have another admirer.”

“That's because you're wonderful, Kitty,” the girl agreed happily.

“I have been bound to this chamber for decades, cut off from all contact. It has been maddening,” the cat explained. So that was what Solona was feeling. Not only was the demon's magic hovering all around, but there was a spell binding it to this place. “Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. Let us return to her father and leave this place forever.”

“Let you have the girl? You mean possess her?” Solona asked carefully. She had to choose her words extremely carefully in order to get out of this with the girl intact. The cat had dug her claws in deep.

“That's _such_ a crude way of putting it. I do not wish to harm Amalia. I merely want to see your world through her eyes. Is that so wrong?”

Solona placed her arms behind her back and stepped forward, holding a palm up to show that she was lying to her companions. “I'll free you, and you can have the girl.” To kill the demon it would need to be free of the binding, and it needed to think she was on it's side.

The cat cocked it's head as if sniffing for lies. Then she said, “The mage's wards hold me within this chamber, and only a mortal may approach them. There is a trick to disarming the wards, but I do not know it. Perhaps you will succeed where the girl failed.”

“Oh, this is exciting! Kitty is going to be free!” Amalia cried.

Solona approached Morrigan who had been studying the runes on the puzzle since they arrived. “ 'Tis a simple thing,” she said. “Even Alistair could figure it out.”

Solona glanced over the five by five board, ignoring Morrigan's jab. She noticed the missing block and the directions that the magic was flowing It began at it's source and bounced in small arcs over the blocks, following the direction that the arrows on the blocks were pointing. “It's a slider puzzle,” she guessed.

“Yes, but we must be careful to not cross the path of the magic... unless of course you wish to lose an appendage. The magic must follow a path across to the diagonal corner,” Morrigan explained.

They set to work, sliding the heavy blocks carefully across the floor and extending the path of the magic. Solona could feel the binding weakening as they came to the end of the puzzle. “Yes! I can feel the magic fading. Oh... I had forgotten how it feels to not be caged!” the cat purred, stretching in typical cat fashion, it's front paws extended, it's butt in the air. Her tail swayed excitedly.

As Solona slid the final block into place and the binding ended with an audible crack in the air, the cat looked to the girl, her expression fiendish. “Kitty? What's happening?” Amalia said warily, as if breaking the binding had also broken her hold on the girl.

“A wonderful thing, my dear, for both of us,” the cat purred, rubbing it's fur against the girl's leg, slipping gracefully between them, back and forth.

Solona removed her staff from it's holster and growled. “Keep your paws off the girl, demon!”

The cat spun, raising her hackles and hissing. “Betrayal! You will not take the girl! She is mine!”

“Kitty! You're scaring me! I won't let you inside me! I won't!” As Amalia ran from the chamber, the Demon pounced, changing mid air into the form of a desire demon. The lavender skinned half naked woman clawed at Solona in spite of not being a cat anymore. She lifted her hands in defense and quickly dropped a barrier to keep the demon off her. She shoved it away and several corpses ripped up the ground around them, to attack her friends. The demon redoubled it's efforts against Solona and she conjured a fireball, hurling it at the demon's face. She reeled back, batting at the fire while Solona prepared a tempest. She extended her barrier to envelop her unprotected companions and then unleashed the lightning storm. It crackled noisily in the tiny room, each strike of lightning booming like a bomb was being set off. She felt her pores opening and sweat pouring from her forehead with the strain of maintaining both the barrier and the storm. When all but the demon was fried and the scent of charred rotting flesh filled the room, Solona dropped her arms, breathing heavily. The barrier receded to hover over her skin alone and she grunted, calling forth one last cone of cold, her staff head dropping sloppily to the floor before she arced it before her and pulled the ice from the ground to pierce the demon as it tried to come for her again. Zevran stepped in, taking it's head with his long dagger.

“What a waste of a beautiful figure,” he sighed, wiping the blood from his weapon and sheathing it as Solona withered against Alistair's chest. He held her aloft as she caught her breath.

She managed a short chuckle. “Looking to get some of that demon 'Kitty', Zev?” she teased.

Zevran's bellowing laughter cut through the now empty room and he wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, my dear Grey Warden, your mind is so dirty. I love it!”

Alistair grunted, his arm tightening around her as a hint of jealousy sparked on his face. She gave him a reassuring pat before pushing away from him to stand on her own two feet. “Let's go make sure Amalia made it back to her father.”

The trek back out of the laboratory was much easier than getting in, and when they reached Amalia, she was hugging her father tightly. He looked up at them, a grateful expression dominating his face. “You did it! You found her! Thank you so much!”

“I'm sorry I ran away, Daddy! I was so scared!” Amalia cried into his shirt, clinging to him tightly.

“It's all right, Butterfly. You're safe now. All the bad creatures are gone.” After soothing Amalia, he looked back to Solona again. “The phrase to activate Shale is 'Dulen Harn.' If you still want that bloody thing. I wouldn't if I were you. Now we should go, and quickly. Thank you again. We owe you our lives.” He ushered his daughter from the cellar and Solona repeated the phrase to herself so she would remember.

 

Back outside in the sun of the afternoon, the golem stood stock still, just as they had left it. Solona inhaled a breath, thinking about what Matthias had told her it had done to his father. She stood a distance away from it and lifted the rod again, as she had before. “Dulen Harn,” she said loudly.

Years of dirt began to stir from between the cracks of the golem's stone skin. Alistair gently drug her even farther away as a great grinding sound issued forth from the golem as it's body twisted to stand straighter. First one arm and then the other began to lower, cracking sounds making Solona's own limbs shudder in sympathy. The golem twisted and moved until it was standing over them in what she assumed was a relaxed position. As she gaped at it, her head tipping to the side, her arm with the rod in it fell lax. Then the golem shocked her by opening it's mouth, sighing and then speaking. “I knew that the day would come when someone would find the control rod. And of _course_ it is another mage. That is what it is, yes? Yes. Just my luck.”

Since when did golem's talk? And with such wispy voices. She would have expected a giant walking rock to have a booming voice. Instead, it's tone was sassy, if a bit gravely and it looked upon her like all it wished to do was turn her into a paste with it's bare hands. It's eyes glowed a bright white as did the small runes carved around it's face and neck. When she finally caught up with her shock, she said, “ 'Just my luck'?”

“Oh, I suppose it will fuss over me like the last mage once did. Poke and prod and cluck it's little tongue.” The golem sighed heavily again and Solona could not help getting the sense that with the effeminate nature of it's voice and it's general disposition, she wanted to use the word 'she' instead of 'it', to describe the golem. “I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long. Many, many years.”

“Oh, you poor, dear!” Leliana swooned. “That would be... really, really boring.”

“And the villagers had no idea they were being watched?” Alistair mumbled in Solona's ear. “Creepy.”

“I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too. Tell me, are _all_ the villagers dead?” The golem asked with hope in it's tone.

“Not all of them, no,” Solona admitted.

“Some got away then? How unfortunate,” it sighed.

“You didn't care for them, I take it?” Solona asked crossing her arms.

“Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say, and after thirty years as a captive audience, I was as familiar with these villagers as one could possibly be... Not that I wished their fate on them, no, but it made for a delightful change of pace.”

Solona could not help the snort that she attempted to hold back. “I'll bet.”

“Well, go on, then. Out with it. What is it's command?” the golem said with a sigh.

“Do you have a name?” Solona asked, not feeling like she should treat the golem as a slave. It had a personality. A lively one at that. She had been expecting something very different, though she was not certain what.

“Perhaps. I may have forgotten after all of the years of being called 'golem'. 'Golem, fetch me that chair', 'Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit'. And let's not forget 'Golem, pick me up, I tire of walking',” it recited with a growl. It's head tipped slightly and it looked down at the rod in her hands. “It... does have the control rod, doesn't it? I am awake, so it... must...”

“Is something wrong?” Solona asked curiously as the golem made an expression that she interpreted as a frown.

“I _see_ the control rod, yet I feel... Go on. Order me to do something,” it requested.

Solona looked around and shrugged. “All right. Walk over there.” She pointed to a vacant spot on the grass.

“And... nothing? I feel nothing. I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the rod is... broken?” The golem seemed perturbed.

“Shouldn't you be happy about that?” Solona asked with a frown of her own.

“Hmm, I suppose if I can't be commanded, this means... I have free will, yes? It is simply... what should I do? I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long. I have no purpose... I find myself at a bit of a loss...” It cocked it's head again. “What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason, no? What did it intend to do with me?”

Solona shrugged. Now that she had spoken with the golem, trying to keep it under lock and key seemed unreasonable. “I don't intend to do anything with you.”

“Ah. How... unexpected? Yet refreshing.” it said. “I suppose I have two options, do I not? Go with it or... go elsewhere? I... do not even know what lies beyond this village.”

“What do you _want_ to do?” Solona asked leadingly.

“I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act. My memories of anything before are... vague at best. So I have no idea what I want to do. I am glad to be mobile, is that not enough?”

“You're welcome to come with me,” Solona offered, tossing the broken control rod away to show that she did not intend to try and control the golem.

“Are... you certain you want to bring that thing with us?” Alistair asked her quietly. “It could be dangerous. And large.”

“Think of it as a portable battering ram,” she hissed over her shoulder, hoping the golem could not hear.

Alistair shrugged. “Good point. Better it than me, anyhow.”

“I will follow it about then... for now. I am called Shale, by the way,” the golem said by way of decision.

“I am Solona. Pleased to meet you.” she offered a short bow of her head and a smile.

“This should be interesting,” the golem said with a sigh as it fell in at the back of her group. Halfway out the village gates, Solona passed by a chicken that had gotten loose from a nearby yard. She paid it little mind until a sharp, frightened cluck rose from behind her and was quickly silenced. When she turned to see what had happened, Shale stood over what was little more than a blood stain on the ground, the chicken crushed beneath it's feet. It shrugged and Solona grinned.

 

Shale was a fascinating creature. The 'soft and squishy' humans around it seemed to do nothing but irritate and bore it, but whenever Solona went to speak to it, it was always willing to divulge all sorts of information even if it was coupled with deep gravely sighs. It took her party only two days to return to Redciffe with the ashes, and Shale complained each time they stopped to either eat or sleep. Apparently the human condition was an inconvenience when you were a stone creature that never slept. In spite of all the complaining and heavy sighs, Shale seemed to enjoy the company and it enjoyed talking. After thirty years frozen with no one to talk to, it likely would be a relief to have someone to share things with. Even if that other person was a 'puny flesh ridden creature'.

Solona did not plan to spend much time in Redcliffe after healing the Arl. _If_ the Ashes worked. They had so much more to do. When they arrived early in the morning, she left the others behind to procure supplies as she and Alistair went up to the castle. Teagan eagerly greeted them, taking the Ashes reverently and summoning both Isolde and the healers. Solona watched with rapt attention near the back of the room, out of the way, as the mage prepared his spell using the Ashes. Alistair stood at her side, absently rubbing his thumb up and down over the small of her back where the rest of his hand rested nervously. He was more worried than she was. He had already lost Duncan, losing the Arl would be like losing another father. She closed her eyes and prayed, jostling his hand from her back to clasp it in hers. He smiled at her gratefully and they both turned back to watch.

Solona felt the pull of the spell as a blue aura enveloped the Arl's body. At first, nothing happened and Solona's heart sunk. Then suddenly, she noticed the Arl stirring. He woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open as if he were simply waking from a long nap rather than the weeks long coma he had been in. He glanced around, recognizing his bedroom and frowning at the gathering of people around him. “Be calm, brother,” Teagan soothed, stepping up beside the bed. “You have been deathly ill for a very long time. Do you remember nothing?”

The Arl's eyes widened, but he did not attempt to sit up. “Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?” The woman rushed to his side, kneeling by the bed and taking his hand in hers.

“I am here, my husband,” she sobbed.

Eamon looked at her and a soft smile briefly slipped over his face. “And Connor? Where is my boy? Where is our son?”

“He lives,” Isolde said, glancing up at Alistair and Solona gratefully. “though many others are dead. There is much to tell you, husband.”

“Dead?” Eamon sighed. “Then... it was not a dream.” He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Much has happened since you fell ill, brother.” Teagan explained. “Some of it will not be... easy for you to hear.”

“Then tell me. I wish to hear all of it,” he said with resignation.

As the healers slipped from the room, Solona tugged on Alistair's hand and they too left the Arl alone with his family. Just outside the door after she closed it behind her, she turned and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “We couldn't have done this all without you.”

She shrugged, nuzzling her face into his chest. “We never would have come here if it weren't for you.”

“You see... and Morrigan says I'm not clever...” he said with a chuckle.

“They don't make stupid templars,” she pointed out.

“ _That's_ exactly what I told her!” he said pulling out of the hug. “Have you been reading my mind?”

“Yes. I am a blood mage,” she joked, her voice low in case someone was listening who might take her seriously.

“I knew you had put a spell on me,” he teased. “Perhaps I should take out my sword and...” he stopped talking as several servants wandered past and Solona giggled as the tips of his ears and his cheeks flushed bright crimson.

“Perhaps the hallway in the Arl's castle is not the place to be discussing what you're going to do with your sword,” she teased as the servants walked out of earshot.

“Hmm,” he said watching for more prying eyes. “ _You_ are likely right. As usual. Do you ever get tired of that? Being right, I mean?”

“I'm not _always_ right,” she said turning her head away from him to blush. “No one is always right.”

“Well, personally I have not seen you make a bad decision since we've met,” he reminded her.

“I chose you, didn't I?” she grinned.

“Oh! Ouch!” he said placing a hand over his heart. “Lightning bolt through the pride. Not nice!”

She shrugged. “I never said I was nice...”

He chuckled and snuck a quick kiss on her lips.

 

Hours later, they were finally called to the main hall where Eamon stood flanked by Teagan and Isolde. He looked much stronger, his eyes less sunken and his cheeks less hollow, though the lingering effects of the poison had all but disappeared. The Ashes had truly performed a miracle. He glanced down at Solona and then his eyes shifted and he smiled warmly at Alistair, even if it was a tentative smile. Then he spoke. “This is most troubling. There is much to be done, that is true, but I should first be thankful to those who have done so much.” His gaze fell back on Solona. “Grey Warden, you have not only saved my life, but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your services?”

She had her hands clasped behind her back and she averted her gaze, shuffling her feet. “I need your help against the Blight. That will do,” she said modestly.

The Arl scoffed. “I understand, but regardless of your motivations, I feel you are worthy of a reward. I would like to honor your efforts, nothing more.”

“As you wish, then,” she said, still uncomfortable to be receiving such praise. She was a mage. Never did mages get so much honor heaped on them.

“Then allow me to declare you and those traveling with you Champions of Redcliffe. You will always be welcome guests within these halls. And for you Warden, a shield of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knights,” he offered.

“Thank you, your grace,” she said, admiring the heavy shield as it was placed in her hands. Alistair would benefit greatly from a replacement for his old templar shield.

Teagan seemed agitated by the ceremony and he spoke up, dancing from foot to foot. “We should speak of Loghain, brother.” Alistair quietly took the shield from her, relieving her of the burden. How he carried such heavy hunks of metal all of the time, she would never guess. He made it look easy as he swung it around on the battlefield. “There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery.”

Eamon sighed. “Loghain instigates a civil war even though the Darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have know him. He is a sensible man, one who never desired power.”

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne. He is mad with ambition, I tell you,” Teagan insisted.

“Mad indeed,” Eamon agreed. “Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands... Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.”

“But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?” Solona asked urgently.

“I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies,” Eamon explained. “We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance of fighting the Darkspawn.”

“But once everyone learns what he has done...” Solona began.

Eamon held up a hand. “I will spread word of Loghain's treachery both here and against the King, but it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore.” He turned and paced towards the fire. “We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen.”

Teagan gasped. “Are you referring to Alistair, brother? Are you certain?”

Eamon sighed and returned to where he had been standing. “I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred.”

“You intend to put Alistair forward as king?” Solona gasped, glancing over at the man in question whose expression had turned sour.

“Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood,” Eamon continued.

“And what about me?” Alistair blurted angrily, his fists clenched. “Does anyone care what I want?”

Solona clenched her own fists to prevent herself from touching him in comfort. “You have a responsibility, Alistair,” Eamon chided gently. “Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?”

Alistair's expression fell and his fists loosened. “I... but, I... No, my lord.”

“I see only one way to proceed,” Eamon said eagerly now that he had Alistair's grudging approval. “I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing.”

All eyes were on her and she flinched. “My blessing? Why do you need my blessing?” she squeaked, not really liking the idea of putting Alistair forward as king. Though it looked as though she would have little choice.

Eamon smiled warmly. “None of this would be possible without you. You led Alistair here, you saved my life with the Urn of Sacred Ashes... Its your lead I follow.” _Sweet Maker, no pressure_ , Solona thought, her palms beginning to sweat. “I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you. Surely you see that.”

Solona glanced back and forth between Alistair and Eamon. She needed to make a decision. Biting her lip, she apologized to Alistair with her eyes and ensured him they would discuss everything later. For now, she opened her mouth and sighed defeat. “I say we proceed with your plan.”

Eamon nodded. “Very well. I will send out the word, but before we proceed, I believe there is the matter of the mage, my son's tutor. He still lives, I understand.” Eamon looked to Teagan.

“He does. He is in the dungeon, brother.”

“Have him brought here, Teagan. I wish to see him.” Teagan bowed out and after a few agonizingly awkward minutes of silence, he returned with Jowan at his heel. Eamon looked over the quiet and cowed blood mage and sneered. “Jowan. What you have done is not in question. You tried to assassinate me, and set into motion a series of events that nearly destroyed everything I cherish. What have you to say in your own defense?”

Jowan refused to look at Eamon, though his eyes flicked momentarily to Solona as he sighed apologetically. “Nothing, my lord, other than to say I am sorry. I expect no mercy for what I've done.”

Solona despised seeing her friend so broken. He had once been so much like her. Inquisitive, intelligent, and willing to see the humor in anything. Now he was a husk of man who lost everything. “I see,” Eamon said harshly. “Grey Warden. Have you anything to say on Jowan's behalf?”

Solona squared her shoulders and looked directly in the Arl's eyes where Jowan refused to look. “He was once a good man, and a friend.”

“Well said,” Eamon said, his voice softening. “You show more loyalty, perhaps, than he would in your shoes. And what would you have me do? As the injured party, my ability to see the merciful path is... strained.”

“Let him go,” Solona pleaded. “Allow the Circle to hunt him if they wish.” It was as much a punishment as whatever the Circle had in store for him. He would be on the run forever. Always hunted and unable to use his magic for fear of being caught. Jowan knew this, she could see the understanding in his face as he looked at her in horror. Eamon was not convinced.

“That I cannot do. He is a maleficar. I cannot unleash him on a land already wracked by war and chaos... I am sorry.” Eamon turned from Solona to address her friend. “Jowan, I hereby turn you over to the tower of the Circle of Magi. May the Maker have mercy on your soul.”

Solona cringed. At best, Jowan would be killed. At worst, his mind would be mutilated and he would be made Tranquil. A worse fate than death in her opinion. Still, he accepted it with dignity. “Thank you, my lord.” He looked to her and a single tear slipped from his eye. “And goodbye, my... friend.”

As Jowan was hauled off by a pair of Eamon's knights, the Arl spoke again. “Now, back to the matter of the Landsmeet...” As if he hadn't just condemned a man to death or worse. “It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, I suggest you pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the Darkspawn.”

Solona bowed shortly and with a glance at Alistair, they left the main hall to exit the castle. It was early afternoon, and she saw no point in wasting the day when they could make certain they were well stocked with supplies and begin the journey to Orzammar. Alistair stopped her on the bridge leading away from the castle and to the road where they had planned to meet back up with the others. “Hey, I'm sorry about your friend.”

She accepted the hug he offered and sighed. “I'm sorry I agreed with Eamon's plan to put you forward as king.”

Alistair grunted. “I'm not. If it means that Loghain will get what's coming to him, I'm willing to do what needs to be done.”

“You actually want to be king?” she asked in surprise.

He snorted. “Maker's breath, no... but sometimes life isn't about what you want.”

“Becoming king would change everything,” she said warily.

He sighed. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we have to convince the dwarves and the elves to help us with the Darkspawn.”

Her shoulders slumped in agreement. “Fine, let's just cross this bridge that we're on.”

 

_She was standing in a crevasse, surrounded by hundreds of Darkspawn. The shifting nervous energy of all of the bodies pressed together was enough to give her a headache. As she glanced around, disgusted by the hunks of dead flesh and corruption that grew on the walls surrounding her, she grimaced. Overhead, the sky was a sickly green color, and dragon bones protruded from the walls of the crevasse. She hopelessly hunted for a way to climb out of the pit, but there were simply too many bodies around her. As she tried to push her way through, suddenly all eyes lifted above, hers included. She heard the flapping of a great pair of wings as the Archdemon descended on the horde, landing on a cliff overlooking the congregated bodies. It scanned it's armies and suddenly, it's eyes landed directly on her. She froze in place, her eyes locked with the massive tainted creature. It suddenly let out a bellowing roar that forced her to clap her hands over her ears._

She woke with a shout, her heart racing. It had seen her. She knew it had seen her. She scrambled to her feet and fought with the flap of her tent as her hands shook in fear. When she managed to get out of the tent, Alistair was emerging from his across the way, a look of confusion and terror painting his features. She ran to him and he embraced her tightly. “You're awake!” he exclaimed as the ruckus they were making drew the others from their slumbering. “Did you... Did you feel it, too?” As she buried her face in his tunic, he continued to explain for the benefit of the others. “It was like the Archdemon saw us... _Saw us_! What does that mean?”

A strange noise broke the silence before she could answer, turning her blood to ice. She gripped his shoulders as she looked up at him. “What was that?”

“Shrieks!” he gasped as she pushed her away so he could run to his tent and grab his weapons. Out of thin air, the stealthy creatures appeared in the middle of the camp. Solona wasted no time. She called on her magic, scorching the one that got closest to her. Then she backpedaled, as the others jumped into action. Shale stepped in, snatching one of the Darkspawn from the ground and ripping it in two before tossing the pieces aside and lifting its leg to step on a genlock that had joined the fray. Morrigan was suddenly a man sized spider, webs shooting from her bulbous rear and trapping one of the quick moving shrieks before it could jump on Zevran's back. He spun around and shanked the Darkspawn before disappearing, only to reappear across the camp to stab a hurlock in the back. Leliana had grabbed her bow and was raining arrows around the perimeter of the camp as Darkspawn attempted to bypass the barrier that Wynne was erecting. Sten and Shale now stood back to back, a duo so fearsome that the Darkspawn were avoiding them in favor of Solona and Alistair. Solona showed no mercy, flinging shards of ice from her palms like daggers to cut through the crowd, then she channeled lightning to her hands and sparked it across the field to drop a pair of hurlocks trying to surround Zevran as he fought a shriek who was trying to claw his face. Alistair charged a hurlock and genlock who were standing together and knocked them back with his shield. The he spun and slashed at then with the edge of his shield and with his sword, opening gashes in their flesh that spurted blood onto his tunic.

None of them had been prepared. The entire group was fighting in their pajamas and Solona took a split second to let out a short, mad bit of laughter as she realized that Zevran was fighting in nothing but his small clothes. “Zev, you git! Do you always sleep in your smalls?”

His amused chuckle reached her ears and he retorted, “No. Usually I am naked, my dear Grey Warden. The cold Ferelden air really gets the blood pumping!”

“I did not hear that,” she snorted. Morrigan skittered by, her eight legs making Solona shudder just a bit as she rose upon her front set and spat a deadly poison from between her fangs. It landed on a charging genlock's face and when it fell, it's skin melting away like she'd thrown acid on it, she scurried over and used her powerful front legs to pierce through it's chest several times. Solona glanced around and as Sten's greatsword cleaved a shriek in two, the Darkspawn receded, Wynne's barrier driving them off.

Alistair jogged over to her, making certain she wasn't hurt before sighing and stabbing his sword into the ground at his feet. “I guess it's like Duncan once said... We can sense them and they can sense us. We'd best be more careful from now on... This camp isn't safe any longer.”

Morrigan's magic hummed in the air as she turned back to her usual form and grunted. “What will they send next? Darkspawn tax collectors?” She brushed dirt from her sleeve and sauntered back toward her lean to.

“Fortifications should be built around the camp,” Sten suggested.

“How unnerving,” Leliana said hugging herself.

“It will be more difficult to sleep here now,” Wynne agreed.

Zevran scoffed and crossed his arms. “What, no trap? no ambush? Hmph... Some assassins...”

“It is done, let us move on,” Shale suggested.

Solona couldn't help but agree. “Staying here would be a bad idea. I know it's late, but we should pack up and go.”

Nobody argued. Solona checked on Bodhan and his son, and they seemed frightened but unscathed. Within the hour, they were back on the road, Wynne and Solona lighting their way with their staves.

 

Two nights later, Solona was chatting with Leliana when she felt Alistair's gaze on her. She turned to see him watching her closely. She could tell he had something on his mind, but the flush at the tips of his ears made her wonder exactly what he had been thinking about. She rose her brows at him in question and he grinned teasingly then casually tossed his head in invitation. He got up from the log he was sitting on and disappeared from the perimeter of camp. She went back to her conversation, not wanting to be overly obvious. The last time he had called her away from camp, it had been to snog for half an hour until they were interrupted by Zevran who teased her relentlessly for three days afterward. When Leliana said she was turning in, Solona excused herself quietly and made a beeline for where Alistair had disappeared to.

She came upon him not far from the camp, away, but not dangerously so. She paused to watch him pace, running his hands through his hair and mumbling to himself. She crossed her arms and waited for him to notice her. When he finally looked up, his cheeks and ears flushed again and she chuckled in amusement. “What's got you all worked up?”

“All right. I guess I really don't know how to ask you this...” he stuttered as she approached him.

She reached up and brushed her fingers over his brow. “Are you sweating?” she teased.

“No!” he jerked away, batting at her hand. “I mean yes. I mean... I'm a little nervous, sure. Not that this is anything bad or frightening or... well, yes.” He groaned in defeat as she watched him have a silent heart attack. What in the Maker's name had him so on edge? “Oh, how do I say this? You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode. I... I can't think straight...” He lifted his hands up, miming his head exploding and she chuckled at how darn adorable he was being.

“That's very sweet,” she said reaching out and taking one of his hands in hers, attempting to soothe him. His palms were sweaty.

“Here's the thing... being near you makes me crazy,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “But I can't imagine being without you. Not ever. I don't know how to say this another way... I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the camp. Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but... I know what I feel.”

Solona squeezed his hand. “You want to spend the night? Are you sure?” she asked. She was more than willing, but she knew she would be his first. She didn't want him to rush things because he thought it might be what she wanted.

He sighed. “I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place... but when will it be perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met.” He brushed her hair from her face, the awkward young templar replaced by the man she had fallen for in a matter of seconds. “We sort of... stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else. I don't want to wait anymore. I've... I've never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you... while we have the chance. In case...”

She stopped him with a finger on his lip before he brought her memory back around to the attack on the camp. She didn't want to think about that. Not now. “No need to say anything else. I agree.” She smiled up at him and reached up on her toes to remove her finger and replace it with her lips.

The press of his mouth to hers drew her closer to him, the small rivets on her armor tinkling against his cuirass. His hand came up and found its way into her hair to gently massage her scalp. When her fingers began to work the straps loose on his chestplate, he chuckled around the kiss and pulled away. “Don't you think we'll want to move this under cover of tent before we start in on all of that?”

Without a word, she took his hand, smiling, and pulled him along behind her toward the camp's perimeter. She peered around a tree to see if anyone was still up while he moved up behind her, planting short light kisses on her neck, brushing her hair over her opposite shoulder. It was all she could do not to moan out loud and draw attention from anyone who might be still awake. Turning her head into him, she nipped at his ear in response, before again turning to survey the camp. The coast seemed clear, so she quietly tiptoed to her tent with him on her heels.

As soon as they were inside, she spun to wrap her arms around his neck and press her body to his, that annoying clink sound happening again. She slid her hands down to work on his buckles as she again joined their lips. As his chestplate fell into her hands, she dropped it with a thunk on the ground, kicking it away. She dragged her lips lightly over the light stubble of his cheek to whisper in his ear. “So tell me, templar man, What are you going to do with that sword?”

“Maker's breath,” he sighed quietly. His hands trembled as he fumbled with her belt.

She slowed her advances, dropping her hands to pull his away from her armor. “Hey...” she drew his gaze up to hers and offered him an encouraging smile and kissed him gently on the lips. “You've already won me. There is no need to impress me. Would you... like me to steer you around the curves?” she placed his hand on the swell of her hip and moved it around her body so he was gripping her ass. “At least until you get your bearings?”

His hands had stopped trembling and he sighed. “I should be better at this. At least you know what you're doing.”

She snorted. “My first time was with another apprentice behind a bookshelf in the library. We were both so terrified that we would be caught that halfway through, he slipped out when we heard a noise and was so startled that he tripped over his own robes and cracked his forehead on the shelf. You should have seen us explaining that to the healer.” He smiled briefly as she slowly began to undo her own trappings before moving on to his. She allowed him the pleasure of easily slipping his hands between her clothes and her skin and removing them. “Everyone has a first time. If you're lucky it's with someone who truly cares about you and wants it to be fun for _both_ of you. Not just themselves.” She leaned in and kissed along his jaw, letting him simply wander his hands over her skin, while she admired his physique with her fingers. His build told of countless hours of rigorous training and she suddenly realized how he was able to handle that heavy shield so easily. She had denied herself the pleasure in the temple of admiring everything he had to offer, but now she explored every inch, combing his flesh with both hands and eyes.

She was not alone in her scrutiny. His eyes didn't seem to know where to look first. She giggled as he tentatively reached behind her and fiddled with the small hooks that held her breastband in place. “What in Andraste's name are these things made of?” he asked with a chuckle as his hands fell to her hips in defeat. She reached behind her with one hand and deftly flipped the hooks open. The cloth fell to the floor and all hints of frustration escaped his face as he admired her assets. He smirked and then looked up at her, dragging his eyes away. “Would you mind if I...?” He never finished his sentence as she held her arms out in invitation for him to do as he pleased. Thinking he was going to reach out with his hands, she snorted and giggled as he lifted her off her feet and plunged in face first. “This is my new favorite pillow,” he said in a mocking and muffled voice as he snuggled against her breasts.

She gripped his biceps as they flexed to hold her aloft and her nails dug into his flesh. With a choked gasp, she said, “Perhaps we should take this down.”

He pulled his head from it's nest and grinned at her. “What? Afraid I'm going to drop you?” he asked teasingly, releasing his grip for a split second so she briefly fell a few inches.

“No,” she said softly. “But we are in a tent. That leaves few surfaces other than the floor for us to get creative with.” The inches he had dropped her put her at the perfect height to lean in and lightly graze her teeth over the sensitive skin on his neck just below his ear. He slowly submitted, gently setting her back on her feet so they could lie down. She took the lead, pushing him onto his back and climbing over him to straddle his waist. She worked him up, kissing and nipping over his neck and ears and then working her way back to his lips. His hands found their way up her hips, tracing her curves upwards before taking her breasts in his palms. She allowed him to find his own way, letting him discover his own likes and dislikes. He enjoyed kissing her, but he rarely used his teeth, even grazing, in spite of her own use of teeth as she bit his bottom lip, lightly. He seemed to like it when she used hers though all the evidence she needed pressing against her backside. She pushed down wards, enjoying the feel of him against her and he hummed in delight, his hips lifting in response.

They soon lost themselves in the passion of each other rather than worrying about precisely what they were doing. Lighthearted quips and laughter filled the air as much as the moans and sighs as they found something else they enjoyed together. In spite of his nerves and inexperience, he was good with his body giving her ample reason to rake her nails down his chest, which she attempted to control by grabbing hold of the blanket beneath them, balling it up in her fists as she moaned in ecstacy. It had been so long since she'd had release, and she wanted to savor their first time. He swallowed her moan as he pressed his hungry mouth to hers, relentlessly caressing in and out of her body. She could feel the swell of him increase as he came closer and closer to release. Her muscles tightened, drawing a pained grunt from his throat. “Maker,” he whispered, his breaths shallow and quick, his heart beating wildly against her hand as she pressed her palms to his chest.

He thrust her over the edge and she bit down on the meat of his shoulder to stifle her pleasured scream. As soon as her muscles tightened, it spilled him over the edge and he pushed as deep as he could, his head lifting to touch his cheek to hers. As she laid there, twitching on top of him, she moved her arms above his head and smiled, having truly enjoyed herself for the first time in a very long time.

He carefully lifted her off of him, his exit making her writhe and giggle as she rolled to her elbow beside him. His hand slipped up over her abdomen, goose pimples rising wherever he touched. “Hmm, you know,” he said with a chuckle. “According to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now.”

She shrugged and smirked. “It could still happen...”

She laughed as she sparked small arcs of lightning between her fingers to run them along his arm, giving him his own gooseflesh. “Sure, but if you get hit by the lightning _afterwards,_ it hardly seems like an effective deterrent. You do realize the rest of our party is going to talk, right? They do that.”

She snorted and waved her hand, unconcerned. “First smart comment and I feed them to the Darkspawn.”

“See,” he leaned over and nuzzled her neck. “This is why I love you.” His profession fell on her and her slowly decreasing heart rate began to speed up again. It was said with such a carefree tone that she was uncertain how to take it. Was it a term of endearment, or did he truly mean it? As she bit her lip and said nothing, his wandering hand continued to wander, sliding around her hip and pulling her closer to him. “So, what now? Where do we go from here?”

She reached up to cup his face and caress his cheek with her thumb, studying the joy in his eyes. Even in the relative darkness of the tent, she could feel his contentment, mirroring her own. “We stay together, no matter what happens.”

“Right,” he said turning his head to kiss her palm.”I can handle that. I hope... Before we go to sleep, have I told you that I love you? I did? Well, it won't kill you to hear it again, will it?” She could hear him practically begging her not to ignore that he'd said it this time.

Now that she knew he had meant it, her racing heart was beating out of her chest with excitement. “I love you, too,” she declared, meaning the words more than she ever had before. The word had been tossed around in the tower so often that it had begun to become a hollow thing that simply meant you would meet that person once in a dark corner for a few stolen moments before you barely spoke to them again.

“See?” he chuckled giddily. “Was that so hard?”

She could not bear to squash the happiness that was hovering between them, but she had to know his opinion. They had been set down a path that could separate them as easily as the Blight. He could be king of all Ferelden. Where would that leave her? “Where do you see this going between us?” she asked suddenly.

His hand froze and he frowned “Wow, you don't hold back on the hard questions, huh?” he sighed, pulling her against him again. She shifted so she laid on her side, facing him, their legs intertwined. His blue eyes studied her thoughtfully as his thumb caressed her hip idly. “I don't know where this is going. We have the Blight to think of, don't we? Everything else just seems so... distant.”

She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. “I won't let you go, Alistair. No matter what.”

“Nor I you,” he assured her softly before pulling away to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Let's just deal with the Blight, first. There will be time for these sorts of discussions later, trust me.”

She rolled over, pressing her back to his chest and huddled against his warmth. She was an odd combination of elated and terrified that had her shivering. He fussed with the blanket, finally getting it unraveled enough to cover them both, then his strong arm slipped up under her arm and his hand clasped hers. He kissed the back of her neck lightly. “Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night, Sol,” he returned, the smile on his face evident in his voice. She settled her head and closed her eyes, falling asleep easily in the safety of his arms.

 


	9. Under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona must battle the politics of the dwarves and uncover an ancient secret.

Orzammar's gateway spanned the path of an entire mountain peak, large stone archways carved and placed in intervals all the way from the valley. At the top of the snow covered mountainside, giant dwarven doors blocked entry to the city to the large gathering of merchants that surrounded the underground city, permitted to sell outside but never enter. Dwarves were an insular race, living on Ferelden land, but minding themselves. They had their own government, own religion and even their own king. Endrin Aeducan was the current king if Solona remembered correctly. The dwarves and their 'Legion of the Dead' were the first line of defense against the Darkspawn that lived in the Deep Roads when there was not a Blight scouring the land. The dwarven caste system was a confusing system of classes, based upon marriage and birth that Solona was not even certain the dwarves fully understood at times. Once a Dwarf left the city and stepped foot on the 'surface' he was stripped of his rank and exiled, unable to return to Orzammar. Exceptions were made for some merchants with special permits that allowed them into the Commons to sell, but they were not recognized as citizens. Other exceptions were made in times of war, such as now, when the Darkspawn discovered an Archdemon and poured from their pits to assault the land. The dwarven armies were obligated to come to the aid of the Wardens.

Solona glanced around in awe at the hundreds of merchant carts parked outside the city. Bodhan happily found himself a place among the masses and set up his cart, Sadal excitedly shouting “Enchantment!” to anyone who passed by. Solona had not forgotten her promise to Sten and as her companions spread out to admire the goods for sale, she paused to ask after the merchant named Faryn. A few of the merchants she asked knew nothing of him, but finally a shady looking red headed man with sunken eyes and a haggard expression grinned at her with missing teeth and seemed quite proud that she had heard of him. At first he refused to give her information on the sword simply saying he had sold it. When she turned around and pointed to Sten who was admiring a merchant cart selling cookies, the man began to sweat and immediately spilled that he had sold the sword to a dwarf in Redcliffe named Dwynn. Solona remembered Dwynn. He had been convinced to defend the city rather grudgingly the night of the assault. He was still alive as far as she knew. She thanked the creepy fellow and even earned a few sovereigns promising not to tell Sten about him.

She took a stroll through the carts and stands, finding a few gifts for some of her friends. A miniature golem doll for Alistair, a pet rock for Shale, a couple of books for Wynne and a pendant with a Chantry symbol on it for Leliana. Her favorite find was a golden mirror that sparkled with jewels encrusted around the handle. After purchasing it, she asked the merchant to wrap it and then hurried off to find Morrigan. “What have you there?” Morrigan asked with genuine curiosity as Solona handed her the delicate package. She unwrapped the gift and gasped. “A mirror?.. It is... just the same as the mirror which Flemeth smashed on the ground, so long ago.” Her fingers barely touched the edges as she admired the craftsmanship with a shocked look on her face. Morrigan looked up at Solona, her eyes glistening before she swallowed the emotion she was feeling and hugged the mirror to her chest. “It is incredible that you found one so like it. I am uncertain what to say.” Then her gaze turned stony and her eyes narrowed. “You must wish something in return, certainly.”

“Don't be ridiculous. It's a gift, Morrigan,” Solona said, her excitement dwindling as the untrusting woman spread more mortar on the wall around her that she blocked all relationships with.

“You say that as if I should be accustomed to such a thing. I have... never received a gift, not one which did not come at a price...” she glanced down at the mirror again. “I suppose I should say thank you. For the gift. 'Tis... most thoughtful, truly.” An uncertain smile crept onto Morrigan's face as she carefully tucked the mirror into her pack.

 

After allowing everyone a few hours to simply browse the market and take some time to wind down, Solona grudgingly gathered her people and headed for the doors to the city. Just outside on the stoop, a few dwarven guards were arguing with a finely armored man flanked by what looked to be mercenaries. The man's fists were balled and down by his hips making him look a bit childish as his reddened face demanded an audience with the dwarven king. “Veata! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time!” The closest guard said angrily, swiping his hand through the air in a last straw gesture. How long had this man been here hounding them, Solona wondered as she hung back to listen.

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger.”

“I don't care if you're the king's wiper, Orzammar will have none but it's own until our throne is settled,” the dwarf insisted.

Solona stepped forward, making her presence known. “I have urgent need to talk to your king,” she said, Alistair coming up to her side and offering her the treaties.

“Who doesn't?” Loghain's messenger grunted. “If I don't get in, no one should.”

The dwarf sighed. “Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war.”

Solona reached out her hand to the dwarf and he took the treaties from her to read them over as she spoke. “I am a Grey Warden. This treaty obliges Orzammar to aid me.”

The messenger gasped. “The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They're sworn enemies of King Loghain!”

“Well that _is_ the royal seal,” the guard sighed, handing the papers back to Solona. “That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass.”

Solona was tempted to stick her tongue out at the messenger as he sputtered in outrage. “You're letting in a traitor? And a foreigner? In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this... stain on the honor of Ferelden!” Solona held her hand up as Alistair stepped forward threateningly. And Shale mumbled something about squishing heads.

“Run to your false king,” she growled. “The dwarves will not hear him today.”

“You... you'll hear of this! King Loghain will see you quartered!” the messenger threatened, his eyes taking in her large party and backing down, the wind blown out of his sails.

As he scurried off, the dwarf sighed and gave a signal for the others to open the doors. “You are free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden, though I don't know what help you will find.”

Inside the heavy metal doors, they were greeted by a brightly lit entry hall that was lined with gigantic carved statues of former dwarven Paragons. Normal dwarves elevated to their status by being exceptional at one thing or another, the Paragons were usually smiths and inventors, revered as godlike. The statues were glorious, the likenesses both block-like and realistic. The hall was lit by carefully walled off falls of lava, like most of the Deep Roads, giving it a warm and inviting feel. Solona was anxious to see the rest of the city. It was both thrilling and nerve wracking to be walled in by so much stone. They passed through another door into the part of the city referred to as the Commons. It was where the nobility and merchant classes met to exchange goods and services as well as where many of the smithies and taverns were housed. At the end of a long bridge over a river of lava, was the entry to the proving grounds. An arena where the warrior class would battle out their differences in controlled combat.

Before they got far, they ran upon an argument between two clear factions of dwarves. An older man dressed in fine clothing, his long gray hair pulled back off his face in a braid and his beard sectioned as well into several smaller braids stepped into the middle of the disagreement, his calm voice low and reasonable. “It is the Assembly who makes a king and a king who nominates his successor. None of it is carried in the blood.”

A much younger dwarf, clad in full heavy chainmail with short blonde hair and a longer beard stepped in to reply. “Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup. Who's to say what my father said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side?”

“I'll have you thrown in prison,” the gentle voiced man threatened.

“You've bitten off more than you can chew!” the other growled.

A guard stepped in to cool the argument. “Handlers! Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter! I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!”

Another dwarf that stood at the younger man's side pulled an axe from his belt. “Do not speak that way about the man who should be king!” He swiped low with the axe, knocking the guard's feet out from under him and then swung it back down to bury it in the fallen man's gut. Blood sprayed everywhere and for a split second, Solona thought they might get the mentioned riot. Instead, the older man turned with his guards and ran off while the man she assumed was Bhelen stood confidently in place while the people surrounding him turned to leave in the opposite direction. Then he turned and followed, leaving the dead guard to be cleaned up by his fellows.

Solona gaped at what she had just witnessed while another guard shouted orders. “Stone blind idiots! I won't have fighting in the Commons! Especially in front of outsiders!” He grumbled another phrase beneath his breath. “I find that sodding fool, I'll have him in the Legion.”

With the surprising greeting sorted out, Solona calmly approached the guard and asked how to get to the Assembly. He pointed around a bend in the commons where she would find a door that sectioned off the Diamond Quarter. As they walked through the streets, passing more merchants, she ran into a very enthusiastic young dwarf named Dagna who begged her to pass on a message to the Circle, asking if she could go there for study. Even though dwarves could not do magic, she was fascinated by the art and wanted to learn everything she could. She was willing to give up caste and clan for the opportunity and Solona could not refuse her.

Through the door and into the Diamond Quarter, Alistair whistled at the grandeur they were witnessing. “So the closer you are to the surface, the higher your caste. Unless you're actually _on_ the surface,” he mused. The streets reminded her of carved marble, buffed to a shine, even though it was volcanic rock. The houses of the nobility lined the wall to their left and on the right was a drop into the abyss of the lava river that ran through the mountain. The path was a steady climb upwards leading to the palace, the Assembly quarters and then finally the shaperate, which was the dwarven equivalent of a library where their history was carved into large stone tablets with lyrium, burning the 'memories' into the stone forever. To have your name and history struck from the memories was the ultimate shame for a dwarf. Criers were stationed outside the largest estates, shouting news from the Assembly and goings on in the city. Solona listened closely, hoping to gather some information about the contenders for the throne. Bhelen struck her as a warmonger, but the dwarves were a typically harsh and violent people. The provings were a testament to that fact. Harrowmont was said to be Endrin's chosen and he also struck her as a catalyst for change among the dwarves, but who was she to make those decisions?

When they entered the Assembly hall, they were asked to wait until the session had ended. It was only a few minutes before a recess was called and the steward came from the chambers cursing. “Stone forsaken fools and dusters.” When Solona approached him, he grunted. “I'm sorry. This is the Assembly of the clans. Only deshyrs and occasional guests are allowed in.”

“I was told to come here,” she said, hoping it wasn't rude. She knew so little of dwarven culture. “I am a Grey Warden.”

He glanced over her armor and sighed. “Forgive me. I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot about the message from the gate guard. Welcome to Orzammar, Warden. I hope you can forgive our unrest. The loss of our king has hit us hard. Respect for your role is great, but you won't receive a proper hearing until we have a king on the throne.”

Solona wrung her hands and glanced back at Alistair who shrugged his shoulders and waved her onwards. “Please, a Blight is coming...”

“Troubling,” the Steward agreed, but shook his head. “But it will still seem distant compared to the empty throne. The Assembly is blind to all else.”

“Does the city not care that the world is about to end?” she sputtered.

“This _is_ their world,” he said, a frown furrowing his brow. “And it ended when Endrin died.”

“So who has the authority to aid me?” she asked with a sigh. _We must push forward_. Duncan's words echoed in her thoughts.

“Dulin Forender, Harrowmont's man, can be found at the Harrowmont Estate. Vartag Gavorn, Prince Bhelen's second, is often here in the Assembly. I only wish there was more I could do for you.” With a half nod, he returned to the dueling deshyrs and Solona was left with a choice.

Whoever she spoke with would need to come out as the victor in the squabble over the throne. If she chose the wrong man, her hopes for support could get squashed like a pigeon that landed too close to Shale. Harrowmont seemed a more reasonable man, but Bhelen might be just who she needed to rule over an army meant to fight Darkspawn. She decided she needed more information and spoke with both Vartag and Dulin.

Vartag was hovering outside the Assembly room in the vestibule, just as the Steward had suggested. It was not hard to spot him as he approached her from an alcove to her right. “Warden. Welcome. It is always a blessing for Orzammar to host your order. I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. What news do you bring?”

Solona sized up the man, before arching a brow. “You know who I am?”

He grinned and glanced around her. “It would be hard not to notice the Grey Warden and her eclectic entourage. I hear you seek the aid of Orzammar's finest.”

She nodded, crossing her arms. “I need aid against a Blight.”

“Yes, the treaty I've seen it in the shapers' libraries. Now the difficulty is that the treaty only compels our king, and we are sadly lacking one of those right now.”

“Is there some way I can help?” she asked, realizing why he had been so eager to stop her.

“My Prince is the rightful king, but a disappointing number of lords back the upstart, Harrowmont, for the throne. If you show your support for Prince Bhelen, he might be able to assist with your requests,” the man said, studying his nails in a show of casualness that she was not buying into. Something about this man rubbed her the wrong way.

“I thought King Endrin himself supported Harrowmont,” she said attempting to elicit a reaction like the one she had witnessed in the Commons.

“That hurts worst of all. That Harrowmont would take advantage of the dying king's delirium to plant such poisonous suspicions against his own son,” Vartag shook his head sadly. His speech was rehearsed, down to the inflection. “After that, you understand why Bhelen cannot trust the word of a stranger. However reputable that stranger might be.”

“And what must I do to prove my good intentions?” she asked suspiciously.

“Harrowmont has engaged in a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure that every house serves him. But if a neutral party, a stranger, were to approach certain key members, perhaps with irrefutable evidence of Harrowmont's deception...” he suggested coyly.

“Irrefutable evidence?” Wynne scoffed. “Which I suppose _you_ have?”

“I'm certain my Lord Prince would show his gratitude,” he said with a nod.

“What kind of evidence?” Solona asked not liking how he was toying with her. There was caution and there was rehearsed deception.

“Harrowmont promised the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs, Lady Dace and Lord Helmi. Oh, excuse me, two Assembly members. 'Deshyr' is their formal title. Harrowmont can't possibly grant it to both of them, but they won't find out until after the vote is cast. I have copies of the promissory notes Harrowmont gave each of them. Once they see those, they should both reconsider their votes.” Vartag explained.

“Where did you get these promissory notes?” Solona asked, wondering why dealings within Harrowmont's house would be accessible by Bhelen.

“That is not important. If they ask, say you found them while searching the shapers' libraries for your treaty,” he said with a shrug.

“Isn't there someone you could report him to?” she asked, her suspicion rising with every evasive answer.

“Normally the shapers would handle this sort of accusation. They are the scholars who manage our laws, histories, and genealogies. They are the final arbiters of all disputes in Orzammar. Unfortunately, the shaper of memories is the most important among them, and his grandfather was Lord Harrowmont's aunt's first cousin. Obviously, we cannot expect him to offer an unbiased opinion.”

That was a stretch, even for Solona's tastes, and she was willing to accept a lot after the things she'd seen. “He'd hold a distant relative over his duty?”

Vartag shrugged. “I guess I can't expect you surfacers to understand the importance of family in Orzammar. The shaper is biased, and if you want Prince Bhelen's help, you'll have to show where _your_ loyalties lie. Will you do it?”

And there it was. The threat. She had smelled it coming. She would play along if it meant all her options were open, but the first place she was taking the notes he gave her was the Shaper of Memories. “I'll have to think about this,” she said, not making a decision. She would see what Harrowmont's man had to say.

A sneer opened up on the dwarf's face. “Don't expect this offer to last. If my Prince hears you swore allegiance to his enemy, he won't be so friendly next time. I will be here if you change your mind.”

Solona was seconds away from sicking Shale on the rotten bastard and squishing him to a pulp. Alistair must have sensed her rage because his hand landed on her shoulder and he steered her from the Assembly quarters. She was taking deep even breaths when the large doors closed behind them. There was an armored dwarf standing outside on the stoop. He hailed them with a warm smile on his face. “I heard there was a Grey Warden here. I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont. King Endrin's own choice as successor,” he said with a short bow. “Word is spreading that the surface may suffer a Blight. It is shameful we are not in a better position to help.”

“I would speak with Lord Harrowmont,” Solona requested.

Dulin sighed heavily. “In an ordinary time, Lord Harrowmont would be honored to meet you. Unfortunately, we've already caught more than one of Bhelen's spies approaching Harrowmont under a pretense of friendship. So I'm afraid I won't be able to take your word. If you want to speak to Harrowmont, you will need to prove he can trust you.”

“How can I prove I'm not working for Bhelen?” she asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“That's a generous offer. If you mean it, you might attend the Proving today. The deshyrs take it very seriously. And unfortunately, Bhelen found some way to blackmail or intimidate House Harrowmont's best fighters into stepping down,” Dulin said with another sigh.

“Do you want me to find out why your fighters dropped out?” she asked. On top of the gut feeling she got from Vartag, finding out that Bhelen was trying to sway the proving in his favor would really shine an unfavorable light on the Prince.

“That would be... enlightening, though I hope you won't pry too deeply into things they don't wish revealed,” he said nervously. “If you wish to show your loyalty, enter the Proving as his Lordship's champion. With your order's reputation, I've no doubt the Ancestors would favor your arm. Bhelen would never work with anyone who humiliated him in that way. Harrowmont would have no fear of meeting with you then.”

Here was a man who simply wanted her support. He did not ask her to take suspicious documents around the city, or slander anyone's name. He simply wished for her to take part in the Proving. If she had been on the fence before, his request had pushed her over to Harrowmont's side. She needed someone's butt on the throne for the sake of the entire country, and if Bhelen was as violent and underhanded as he seemed to be, no wonder his father had chosen Harrowmont. She offered Dulin a friendly smile and said, “I will enter the proving, and find out why the others withdrew.”

“Excellent. The arena is located off the Commons. Talk to the Proving master and tell him you're entering Lord Harrowmont's roster. The key fighters we lost were Gwiddon and Baizyl. You can look for them in the fighter's preparation chambers, behind the ring. And be sure it's before the fights begin. After the first bout, no one may change the roster. If you need to find me again, I will wait in the Tapster's Tavern, off the Commons. There is no better place to hear gossip. Perhaps even word of your victory.” He wished her luck and headed off towards the Commons.

“Shit,” Solona cursed as she realized what she had gotten herself into.

“Something wrong, my dear?” Alistair asked.

“No... I only just agreed to enter the Proving as a mage... Dwarves are basically like tiny templars. Most of them are immune to spells,” she wiggled her fingers in his face as a reminder.

He chuckled and pushed her hand away from his face. “I don't know about anyone else here, but I've seen you swing that staff around. I don't think I'd like to get hit with that thing. Plus the Provings are not to the death. If they were, there would be no warrior caste left.”

“If you use physical spells only, you will be able to do quite well, I think,” Wynne said with an encouraging smile.

Solona groaned. “It's times like this I wish I had trained as a Knight Enchanter.”

“With your reserves, that is not a terrible idea. Perhaps when this blight is finished, you should adopt the specialization,” Wynne mused.

Morrigan scoffed. “Better to learn to swing a heavy spirit blade about than to use her vast reserves for something more useful?”

“You could teach me to shapeshift,” Solona prodded. She had asked Morrigan before and had been blown off.

The witch crossed her arms and her eyes flowed up and down Solona with a new appreciation. Then she snorted and shrugged. “We shall see.”

“Oooh progress,” Alistair sneered.

“Perhaps I shall teach her to turn into a bear so that mid coitus she can maul you into silence,” Morrigan threatened.

“Okay, children,” Solona said stepping between the two of them as Zevran chuckled. “Maybe a bit of time apart will do us all some good. I'll head to the Provings with Alistair, Leliana and Zev. The rest of you peruse the Commons and stay out of trouble. I'm looking at you Shale. No squishing.”

The golem sighed heavily as it did whenever she restricted it's squishing but lumbered off with Sten, nonetheless. The others spread apart, Wynne heading toward the shaperate and Morrigan grudgingly taking Barkspawn with her to head back outside to the market. Leliana practically skipped after her, admiring the beauty of the city. “I have heard much about the halls of the dwarven kings, but the stories do it no justice. It is so strange... Harsh, yet beautiful.”

Solona shuddered, still trying to forget the fact that there was a mountain peak over her head. “It's too stony for me. I don't really like being in caves. It's unsafe.”

She glanced at Solona and giggled, her nose wrinkling. “The dwarves have lived here for thousands of years. I'm sure it is perfectly safe. And have you seen those tiny pig like burrowing animals? They are adorable. I wish I could have one as a pet.” she paused and frowned. “But they must be hard to catch and... oh, just ignore me. I'm so silly sometimes. Let's just go.” She hooked Solona's arm with hers and practically dragged her through the Diamond Quarter, pointing out tall statues and carvings on the walls, all the while grinning and laughing. Solona glanced over her shoulder at Alistair and Zevran, the men both avoiding each other, but watching each other carefully. It was an amusing sight. Solona winked at Alistair who in return grinned contentedly at her. Zevran leaned over and said something to him that turned the tips of his ears a bright crimson. She snickered and returned her attention to the woman on her arm.

 

Solona's hands were clammy as she waited outside the doors leading onto the ring of the Proving grounds. She had managed to talk Harrowmont's men back into the fight, Zevran helping to recover some incriminating letters for Baizyl. Now it was her turn to prove herself. The crowd on the other side of the door roared loudly. When the heavy dwarven doors swung open, she stepped into the brightly lit arena as the proving master's voice boomed above the crowd. “ _This is a glory Proving, fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar to honor the memory of King Endrin. First up is Seweryn of the Warrior Caste. Many of you remember Seweryn made history as a lad of twelve by defeating his own father in this very ring. Today, he fights as a champion for Prince Bhelen. Opposing him in Lord Harrowmont's name is a member of the famed Grey Wardens!_ ”

Her competitor joined her in the middle of the ring and bowed low. She reciprocated as he spoke loudly. “In the name of house Aeducan and our future King Bhelen!”

“For the glory of Lord Harrowmont!” she called out, inciting the crowd to a fervor as she raised her staff high.

“ _First Warrior to fall is vanquished. Fight!_ ” the Proving master shouted and Seweryn drew both sword and shield.

Solona erected her barrier and then began to call upon her mana, using all of the physical spells she knew. The warrior was good, but he was no templar. She bounced her physical magic off the ground at his feet, getting up and under his shield. She knocked him backwards and drew down on him with the butt of her staff, twirling to use her body weight to slam into his shield. He dropped the shield and his eyes widened as her momentum carried her back around and her staff found his helmet, ringing his head like a bell. He stumbled and dropped to his knee. She pulled the Earth up from beneath his feet, knocking him all of the way down and then she stepped over him to hold her staff over his throat. The crowd went wild and the master shouted. “ _And the winner is, The Grey Warden._ ”

She lifted her staff away and helped the man to his feet, and he bowed his respect before they were ushered off the field so it could be prepared for her next bout. Her hands were no longer clammy, but her heart was racing with adrenaline. Alistair met her on the other side of the doors with a kiss. “You were spectacular!” he said, his excitement mirroring her own.

The ring was prepared quickly and she barely had time to come down from her victory when she was being called for her second bout. She faced a pair of opponents in this round, a male and female. The female spoke softly as she bowed. “May the Stone honor you...”

Her twin's comment made Solona bristle. “...when you fall.”

Her anger flared and the wind picked up around her. The crowd and the ambiance of the arena set her teeth on edge. She gritted them and growled her response. “Sure, and may the dirt taste good when I feed it to you!”

As soon as the master shouted 'fight!', Solona did exactly as she had threatened. She pulled the dirt up from under their feet, throwing it back in their faces, her staff mimicking a shovel as she directed the magic from far enough away that neither the female's sword nor the male's daggers could reach her. The female recovered more quickly having used her shield to block the dirt from her eyes. She charged at Solona, shouting in anger and folding up behind her shield. Solona danced backwards out of her path and drug her staff in an arc before her. She called ice from the ground and even though she couldn't freeze her opponent, as effectively as she could most other races, she could still block her from getting inside her perimeter. She glanced around and the male was not where she'd left him. She spun, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. He slashed at her with his daggers, bleeding her arm before she could get away. She hissed and twirled her staff with the other arm, whipping it around to slam once with the head and once with the butt into his stomach. He fell over, the wind knocked from his lungs. As he writhed on the ground, Solona drew more mana to her fingertips and dealt with his sister by effectively walling her in with a wreath of fire and then using a much more gentle than she was used to Fist of the Maker to slam her to the ground to writhe alongside her brother.

She had won again. She drew her injured arm to her chest to survey the damage. A long gash began at her elbow and tapered down to her wrist. It was barely bleeding until she looked at it for a few moments. The blade had been so sharp that the cut was delayed in opening up along her skin. She gritted her teeth and made her way back to the exit door to have it looked at before her next fight. Leliana ministered the wound, pulling off Solona's ruined glove and tightly wrapping the bloody gash with a cloth after thoroughly cleaning it and spreading a poultice over it.

Her next fight was a single fighter again, and Solona was relieved. She kept out of the dwarven woman's reach, hurling bolts from her staff that resembled grasping hands. They slammed into the woman with great force, but the woman kept coming, determined to win. Solona drew in her power and released it with a great crack as the ground began to shake beneath their feet. She closed her eyes and directed the magic so she would have a clear path to the warrior. She darted across the magic as the woman stumbled on the rocky terrain. And whirled her staff to slip it between her already unsteady feet. The woman tumbled down and Solona pinned her as she reigned in her magic, calming the quake.

She was finished with the single battles. Her next bout was paired and she enlisted Alistair to be her second. With him at her back, they took down the two warriors easily and moved on to the final bout. The final Proving was allowed a full party of four per team. She and her people took on a powerful berserker and his team. No one came out unscathed, but in the end they were victorious. Solona limped, leaning heavily on her staff as she turned to listen to the Proving Master. “ _Congratulations! You defeated the man Prince Trian once called 'the horns of my army'. Do you deny this Grey Warden has earned the Championship?_ ” The crowd erupted in shouts of excitement. She had given them a show that they would likely never see the likes of again. “ _Then it is my honor to declare this Grey Warden champion of the Proving, who has shown that the Ancestors favor Lord Harrowmont_.”

Solona drew her shoulders square and projected her voice above the crowd. “May the Assembly heed the Ancestors and choose Harrowmont!”

“ _The Ancestors speak through you! Congratulations, Warden._ ”

She was ready for a hot bath and Wynne's healing hands. She had taken a hard hit to the knee and the cut on her arm was throbbing, along with the other minor knicks and scrapes she was sporting after that final bout. Zev's forehead bled from a nasty cut, but he was characteristically chipper. Leliana favored her left side, clutching her ribs where she had taken a shield to the gut, and Alistair's sword arm was hanging limp by his side. He likely had a dislocation. Solona chuckled as she limped from the arena. “Well, let's hope that Harrowmont was the right choice.”

Alistair snorted. “Now is not the time for you to start making bad decisions, Sol.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I need a nap... and a bath... but not in that order.”

Zevran wrinkled his nose. “Judging by the stench of this city, the latter is in short supply.”

Solona shrugged. “All these people shoved in a mountain, no fresh air... It's bound to get a little ripe.”

“A little? Oh my dear Grey Warden, you severely understate the situation,” he chided with a grin.

 

After meeting back up with the others, and getting cleaned up and their wounds tended to, Solona and her companions all headed to Tapster's where Dulin had said he would be waiting for her. The tavern seemed to just be livening up, so Solona assumed that must mean it was nearing the evening. She had lost all track of time once they had stepped inside the mountain. They found Dulin waiting at a table in the back of the tavern, a very large grin on is face. “News of your victory in the Proving has spread Warden! Well done. Lord Harrowmont has agreed to meet with you if you still wish to speak with him.”

“It would be an honor,” Solona said with a half bow. Dulin hopped from his chair and led them back out of the tavern and through the Commons to the Diamond Quarter. Harrowmont's estate was located just below the palace, making him the highest ranking noble below the king. Dulin asked the others to stay outside, allowing only Solona to enter the estate. Alistair chafed at letting her inside by herself, but there was little they could do. Harrowmont would see only her.

Inside was a simple home carved out of the stone itself. There was a butler and a few other servants gathered to get a glimpse of the Warden as she was marched to Harrowmont's study. Dulin held his hand up to the closed door, an invitation. She nodded her thanks and pushed the heavy stone door open. Inside was the man that had been the calm voiced older gentleman they had seen when they first entered the Commons. Now his involvement made much more sense. He stood with his back to her and when he heard her enter his shoulders seemed to rise and he turned to glance at her. “I appreciate what you have done, Warden, and I apologize for putting someone of your rank through such trials. I am Lord Pyral Harrowmont and I thank you for your efforts to help me preserve King Endrin's throne.” He fully turned as he introduced himself and gave a short bow, which she returned.

“I respect King Endrin's wishes,” she said softly, believing that what Harrowmont said was true in spite of the lack of evidence or documentation. If Bhelen were her son, she would not want him ruling either. Shady dealings and back alley threats did not a king make.

“That is good to hear. Especially from an outsider,” he said with a bow.

“All I want is your support against the Blight in return,” she replied.

He sighed deeply. “For us, the Darkspawn are a constant menace, so a Blight may not elicit the same urgency you are used to. Ultimately the Assembly decides what troops to send. If they no longer fear civil war, they'll have no reason to hold back. If you want my support to count, I will have to be king, and right now, there is no sure way to get there.” He paced away from her and then seemed to have a thought. He glanced over his shoulder. “Have you heard of a woman named Jarvia and the criminal Carta she runs?”

“What about them?” Solona asked, the name sounding familiar from the shouts of the criers and whispers around the Commons.

“The Assembly receives pleas everyday from the common folk, begging that something be done about her. So far, no one has managed. Jarvia hides her base in Dust Town, the raw edges of the city where no one lives but casteless and criminals. If you would help me in this, it would show the Assembly that I, and not Bhelen, have the ability to defend and rule this city.”

Solona sighed. “I'll go right now,” she agreed without a second thought.

Harrowmont smiled. “Do this and I promise if I take the throne, I will not stop until the Assembly sends your troops. Look for Jarvia in Dust Town. Do whatever it takes to see that justice is served.”

With a short bow, Solona left to rejoin her friends and explained the situation. “You are jumping through a great many hoops to see the weaker man come out on top,” Morrigan pointed out as they made their way through the Diamond Quarter.

Solona sighed. “Wardens do whatever it takes to fight the Blight. Right now that means settling this throne. I'm committed to Harrowmont now, so it's off to Dust Town to kill some criminals.”

“Who doesn't like a good assassination?” Zevran quipped.

They passed by a flaming red haired dwarf who smelled of ale, arguing with another dwarf who looked none too pleased to be getting threatened. Solona heard something about Paragon Branka and missing in the Deep Roads, but her own business distracted her as they pushed open the heavy doors to get back to the Commons.

 

A few hours later, they had questioned their way through Dust Town, finding a cripple who had worked for Jarvia. Solona also secretly found a dwarf selling nugs, likely for meat, and offered him some silvers if he could find her a healthy one. Leliana deserved a pet nug if she truly wanted one. He told her to return in a day while he hunted one down.

Jarvia's base was a series of tunnels carved under the city that led in a maze underground the underground. Solona hated it there. Not only was the mountain over her head, but the entire city of Orzammar was above her, too. Not a comforting thought.

When they finally ran upon the woman herself, Solona was eager to have it done. Jarvia stood with her arms crossed, a grin on her face. “So, Harrowmont finally realized we're taking the city, yet he still can't be bothered to send his own men. Well, you picked the wrong side, stranger. It doesn't matter who's king, as long as there's a queen!”

Solona mirrored her stance. “You're awfully cocky for someone whose entire Carta is dead.”

Jarvia pointed at her and sneered. “You'll pay for their deaths a hundred times over. Kill them! But leave the pretty one alive. I have plans for her.”

The remaining dwarves of the Carta attacked them and were no match for Solona's team. When the Carta lay in shambles, Solona and the others found an old sealed off passageway. Between her magic and Shale smashing it's entire body into the bricked up doorway, they broke free of the tunnels.

There was a very shocked and confused shop owner on the other side.”Gah! By all the beards of my ancestors! How did you... where did you come from? Y-you made a hole in my wall!”

Solona glanced behind her as she brushed dust from her sleeves and bit her lip. “That hole leads to a tunnel in the Carta's hideout.”

“It... it does? Oh, sod it. If people find out about this, my business will be ruined! They'll think I have something to do with Jarvia!” he sputtered.

Solona scoffed. “Don't worry about it. Jarvia's dead.”

“Dead?” he squeaked as best he could with his deep voice. “How? Did you... you did, didn't you? You killed her! And then you climbed out of there into my shop. Aw, just leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with this. And if anyone comes asking, I'm gonna tell them _you_ did it!”

Solona left with an apologetic nod and in spite of wanting to tell Harrowmont the good news, she was exhausted. It had to be morning on the surface. While she and the others had been at the Proving earlier, Wynne had taken it upon herself to secure them lodgings in the city. She led them to the makeshift inn, run by a nice woman named Filda who Solona learned as they were eating had lost her son Ruck to the Deep Roads. It was a sad story, but Filda still held out hope that Ruck was alive. Solona doubted it, but hadn't the heart to say anything. She shuffled to her room for some shut eye, Alistair on her heels. Since they had begun sharing a bedroll, she had found her nightmares much fewer and farther between, lacking the terrifying intensity that had plagued her since the Joining. His presence made her nights so much easier.

 

After getting a few good hours of sleep under her belt, Solona found herself back in Harrowmont's study. He both smiled and sighed. “I heard the news, Jarvia and her Carta are dead. I suppose it was unrealistic to expect them to surrender.”

“I offered them mercy, but they chose to fight,” Solona agreed.

“Would that some of the noble caste had such loyalty. I have no desire to go back on my word, but when Bhelen heard the news about Jarvia, he raised the stakes. He is forcing a vote in the next few weeks. By law, that prevents the Assembly from hearing any other pleas. To help with your troops, I will require your assistance one last time...” When Solona did not outright protest, a short sigh spoke his relief and he continued. “Do you know anything of the Paragon Branka?”

“Didn't she disappear?” Solona asked, remembering the argument she had overheard between the red headed dwarf and his annoyed target.

“Two years ago, she took her entire house into the Deep Roads on a mad quest to uncover ancient secrets. No one's heard from her since. Were she to return and endorse someone for the throne, the Assembly would be honor bound to accept her wishes,” he explained.

“What if she's dead?” Two years in the Deep Roads was a long time.

“Her entire house went with her. It would take a lot to kill so many. If not, bringing proof of her death or a body to return to the Stone, would still show that as an ancestor, it was my hand she guided to her remains,” he said.

Solona sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.”If it will get you the throne, I will find Branka.”

Harrowmont grinned excitedly. “My men traced Branka's disappearance to an ancient crossroads known as Caridin's Cross. It is many miles below where we normally venture, but I can provide a map to lead you there. Just enter the Deep Roads through the mines. Thank you again. And may the ancestors guide your steps.”

 

Solona hefted a heavy backpack onto her shoulders and kept her staff gripped in her hand. It had been roughly three hours since Harrowmont had handed her the map to the Deep Roads and wished her luck. Alistair adjusted her strap and they shared a concerned smile. She had erred on the side of caution and decided to take only him and Shale with her to minimize the threat of any of her companions being poisoned by the Darkspawn corruption. Leliana had outright refused to be left behind and in spite of Solona's pleas, she had packed herself a bag and was quietly talking with Wynne who was handing her all of the healing potions she had and stuffing poultices in her pack, a stern look on her aged face. Leliana knelt and gave her new pet nug Schmooples a pat on his head before smiling and joining them.

Barkspawn also refused to be left behind, following closely on Solona's heels, proudly wearing the shiny new armor she'd gotten for him. They said their goodbyes in the Commons before heading down to the dirt road by the entrance to the Diamond Quarter that led to the mines and further into the Deep Roads. Just around the first bend, the red haired dwarf who she recognized from the day before stepped from the shadows and stumbled into her path, still smelling of ale. “Stranger! Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I've been privy to the rumor that he... or was that she... you understand this was many mugs ago... was searching for Branka on Lord Harrowmont's own command.” His gravely voice and slurred words made understanding him when he mumbled a bit challenging.

“I am the Grey Warden,” Solona confirmed, taking a step back from his stench before she got drunk off his fumes. “and that would be 'she'.”

His watery eyes sized her up and he grumbled. “Well, if you're the best they've got, then standards must have fallen way down. But I suppose that would account for a human in Orzammar... Say, could I ask you a favor?”

Solona snorted. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

He grinned. “Name's Oghren, and if you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong...” he let out a short 'heh' of laughter that conveyed his pride in these matters. “And that's mostly true, but the part they never say is how I'm the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

Solona looked him up and down, remembering the urgency in his voice during the argument and recognizing determination behind the fog of ale. With a quick glance at Alistair and a shrug that told her he saw it too, she said, “Cut to the chase. You can come if your information is good.”

“You should know that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, which was lost centuries ago.” Shale grunted in interest, but remained otherwise silent, it's stones grinding together as it shifted closer to hear. “The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the anvil. As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin's Cross. No one's seen that thaig for five hundred years.”

Solona nodded. “Harrowmont gave me a map. I can get to Caridin's Cross.”

Oghren turned and started walking. “If we're going, let's get moving. Branka's not going to sodding find herself.”

Solona shrugged to the others and followed after the determined dwarf. His gait was surprisingly straight in spite of his drunkenness and Solona was certain that if it came down to it, he was useful in a fight with the gigantic axe strapped to his back. They were stopped at the mine entrance by a group of guards. “What's this? A human? Did we make these tunnels tall enough for humans?” one of them mused. “I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you past the front lines without a deshyr's permission.”

Oghren pushed past Solona to get in the guard's face. “Open your eyes, man! This Grey Warden is on a quest to find your Paragon! Do I have to take your stinking head off?”

Solona grabbed the scruff of his armor and pulled him back. “What Oghren is trying to say is that we have permission.”

The guard sighed. “Oghren cold have been a deshyr for House Branka. I suppose he's the next best thing, in both skill and arrogance. You may pass. I'd offer more assistance, but my command post is here. All of Orzammar relies on us to hold this line.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, dragging Oghren along with her as she made her way past the guards.

“Best of luck with you quest Warden,” the guard called after her. “Orzammar needs a Paragon now more than ever.”

 

Stepping out of the mines and into the abandoned Aeducan Thaig was a little surreal. Everything changed from bustling city to eerie silence. The smell was different too. Less alive. The air was stale and thick reminding Solona just how far they were underground and just how much further they were likely to go. She shuddered and the great doors to the mine closed behind her.

Her party set off, Shale's footsteps echoing through the dead silence of the tall ceilings and stone walls. No one spoke for quite some time, their voices only making the quiet seem even more unnatural. She clutched her staff so tight that her knuckles whitened under the pressure. Oghren was leading the way, his short legs more than keeping pace. He had informed them while they walked though the mines that Branka had been his wife before she left, and his drive to find her was apparently quite strong. Leliana seemed fascinated by the abandoned buildings and other oddities as they passed, but her interests remained silent, even her usual humming or soft singing stifled. Alistair walked at Solona's side, occassionally glancing at her, likely sensing her discomfort. Finally, he reached over and clasped her free hand, allowing her to grip tightly to him. She smiled her thanks and took a deep breath. They were going to be down here for a while, she might as well get used to it.

They passed quickly through the Thaig, Oghren apparently having been there before on scouting missions. They met slight resistance from some deep stalkers, but the cat sized lizards stood little chance against Shale's feet. Barkspawn growled menacingly until Solona gently bumped his flank with her hip, and gave him a sharp look. Around the buildings of the Thaig, much like Orzammar had rivers of lava running through, keeping a dim light for them to see by. Solona suspected the same would not be true further into the Deep Roads.

When they finally reached Caridin's cross, Oghren broke the silence, making Solona nearly jump out of her skin. “Caridin's Cross,” he nearly gasped. “I can't believe Harrowmont actually tracked this place down. This used to be one of the biggest crossroads in the old empire. You could get anywhere from here, including Ortan Thaig.”

Solona dropped Alistair's hand and moved to stand beside Oghren. “See any sign of Branka yet?”

“Not a one, but trust me, we will once we're on the path to the old Ortan Thaig. She was going to Caridin's home,” he explained, looking at her as if he was surprised she was speaking to him.

“Great. Let's go,” she said, taking over the lead again.

“I've been waiting for someone to say that for two sodding years,” he grumbled, following right behind.

They followed the paved road for a few miles before they were cut off by a cave in of rocks. The crumbled ceiling taunted Solona as she tapped her staff on the ground, lighting the tip to get a better look around and see if there was a way to bypass the road. Shale's crystals glowed softly, adding to the small amount of light from the lava river and her staff. “I believe that is a tunnel over there,” Leliana pointed out to their right.

“Let's hope it leads where we need it to,” Solona sighed, taking the lead to light their way. Inside the tunnel, darkness closed in around them and the rest of her party huddled around her in the circle of her light.

She stopped in her tracks as the tunnel opened up into a gigantic cavern lit near the walls by thin veins of lyrium that ran through the stone. The others looked at her hesitantly, only Alistair grunting in agreement. “Do you feel that?”

She nodded in the darkness before squinting and trying to make out anything in the cavern. There were definite signs of life, foul totems and small torches that lent credence to the hum of Darkspawn that sang in her veins. “Be ready. There are Darkspawn ahead,” she warned for those that could not sense them. She heard Leliana draw her bow and knock an arrow, even though she did not pull back. Oghren's axe clanked softly as he unhooked it from his back. Alistair's sword had slipped from his sheathe the second she had stopped walking. She could feel him at her side, Barkspawn on the other. His shield glinted in the dim light from her staff. She dared not brighten the light and draw more attention to them than their own blood and Shale's stomping feet.

They huddled together, Leliana and Oghren walking backwards almost to keep an eye on their backs. Darkspawn had a terrible habit of cloaking themselves in shadow, even on the surface. The cavern was nothing but shadow. Solona caught movement to her right and she directed the light to get a better look. There were a couple of genlocks scurrying toward them. “On your right, Sol!” Alistair warned as Barkspawn lunged at the nearest beast.

“Everyone keep your mouths shut while fighting. You don't want the blood to get in, even by accident!” Solona shouted as she used her free hand to throw ice at the second genlock.

As if they had rung the dinner bell, a massive bulk of Darkspawn swarmed them. The four front line fighters held the line, charging ahead of Solona and Leliana who kept back to fend off any of the Darkspawn that tried to flank them.

Solona carefully launched her spells, making certain that she was in no danger of hitting anyone on their side. As she drew on her mana, she suddenly felt the tug of another magic user. She was used to the feel of Shale's crystals as they altered the flow of magic around the golem. This was different. “Emissary!” She shouted, catching a glimpse of the tall robed figure near the back of the horde. She pushed to the front, stepping between Oghren and Barkspawn, careful to stay out of reach of Oghren's wide swing. She reached into her core, calling her magic. The darkspawn were all around, their shrieks and growls drowning out most other sound in the cavern as they echoed all around. “Everyone get back!” Solona drew in all of her power, and then released it in a corona of fire that surrounded the horde before her. The inferno rose high above her head, creating a great storm of fire, charring everything in it's path. Howls and animalistic cries of anguish could barely be heard over the roar of the flames. The magic flowed from her, and the smell of burning flesh and boiling ichor filled her lungs. Her energy ebbed and the spell sucked every drop of mana from her body. She dropped her hands, the world swimming around her as the flames died and the cavern once again went dark, save for the still burning points of light that was the occasional Darkspawn corpse. She dropped to her knees, even as she attempted to lean on her staff.

“Sol!” Alistair cried, skidding to a halt by her side to kneel beside her. “Are you all right?”

She chuckled weakly. “I feel like I got hit with a Holy Smite, but I'll live. I just need a minute,” she breathed. “The Darkspawn?” she asked, lifting her head to look around with tremendous effort.

He smiled warmly. “I'm pretty sure you fried everything in the cavern, my dear.”

“Oh, good. Don't think I could help if there were still more,” she admitted, attempting to draw her legs in to stand, but failing.

“Maybe it's a good idea to stop for the night,” he suggested.

She nodded and he helped her to move toward the wall of the cavern. She leaned with her back against the warm stone, trying her best to ignore the scent of charred Darkspawn as she nibbled on some crackers that Alistair had fished from his pack. Shale wandered a short distance from their makeshift camp to squat menacingly like a gargoyle and keep watch while they slept. Alistair slid down the wall beside her and she tipped her head to the side to lean on his shoulder. “Thanks for the snacks. They're helping.”

“I have never seen anyone cast an inferno that large,” he said, his arm snaking around her shoulders. “You amaze me more every day.”

“Aw shucks,” she said with a yawn, her eye lids heavy.

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Get some rest, Sol. Your skin is cold.”

She huddled against him, his body feeling extra warm and inviting. “Wake me for my watch,” she said, setting down the bag of crackers.

“No need,” he offered. “Shale said it would watch all night. It doesn't sleep you know.”

“Mmhmm,” Solona murmured, already half asleep.

 

Caridin's Cross was littered with cave ins and detours that took them four days to navigate amidst the groups of Darkspawn. Oghren's 'stone sense' did not get them far and he grumbled about being a warrior, not a bleeding tour guide. He was helpful when they came across the occassional road sign that helped to point them in the right direction, translating the dwarven runes that were carved into the stone signs. When they finally came up on it, Oghren was again in awe. “By the tits of my ancestors, Ortan Thaig! I never thought I'd see this place in the flesh...” He glanced around, motioning Solona over to the walls so he could get a look at something that she couldn't see. “I can see Branka all over this place. She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel... check their composition. If she was still here though, she'd have sentries out by now.” He sighed in disappointment.

Solona bit her lip. “What if Branka and everyone died?” she asked softly.

Oghren grunted. “Well aren't you a sodding bright spot today? If everyone's dead, there'd be evidence of a major battle, wouldn't there? Three hundred or so dwarves don't just fade away.”

Solona nodded, conceding his point. “Let's get going.”

“Couldn't have said it better myself,” he agreed, taking the lead so he could track the marks that Branka had left.

A strange skittering noise set Solona on edge as they slowly made their way through the tunnels. She genuinely disliked not being able to see more than a few feet ahead of her. “Does anyone else hear hissing?” Alistair whispered.

“I was hoping it was just me,” she admitted, tapping her staff on the ground as she walked, expanding the circumference of her light.

Barkspawn growled low as he stared ahead of them. “I believe I see some giant spiders. Marvelous,” Shale said, the exclamation sarcastic. The tunnel they were in opened into another large cavern. There were sounds of fighting up ahead and Solona chanced to brighten the light even further, expanding it to open up the cavern to their sight. “Oh, and an Ogre.” Shale added with a booming chuckle.

The group of Darkspawn ignored her and her party as they battled a group of giant spiders the size of large children. “Should we... do something?” Alistair asked, his lip lifting in a half grin.

“I'm really not sure which side I am hoping comes out on top,” Solona commented, watching the Ogre stomp on one of the spiders, a greenish goo spraying from it's body as if flattened. “I suppose we should clear them out. We will likely have to come back this way.”

“Good I was just about to get jealous of the Ogre... all of that crushing is difficult to resist,” Shale commented as it took off toward the battle.

Solona shrugged, conjuring a fireball and throwing it into the midst of the fray before Shale reached them. Then she focused her attention on the Ogre, knowing it would be the most difficult to take down. She started with a bit of her own crushing, slamming a fist of the maker down on the beast, knocking it to the ground. Then she enclosed it in a crushing prison that only lasted a few moments before it broke loose and charged at her, horns down. She dodged out of it's path, pulling up the ground where she had stood to trip it. It skidded to a halt, face first, roaring in frustration. It pounded the ground with it's fists, shaking the earth under her feet. Using her staff to maintain her footing, she slipped a winter's grasp into the wood and when the ground stopped shaking, she flicked the butt of her staff upwards to throw the overcharged spell at the Ogre. It froze in place and she immediately shot off two stone fists to slam into the frozen beast, shattering it to pieces. She was about to turn around to help the others when out of nowhere, something slammed into her side, knocking her down and pinning her. She looked up into the furry face of an oversized spider. Her staff was thrown from her grip and she lifted her arm to protect her face from the snapping pincer-like fangs. She called fire to her palms, reaching up to press into the spider's face. It reeled back, one of it's fangs nicking her arm as it retreated. She scrambled backwards, the open wound burning in agony as she put weight on the limb. “Andraste's tits,” she cursed, getting to her feet and hunting for her darkened staff. As soon as it left her hands, the light had vanished, leaving only the light blue glow from the lyrium in the walls. She conjured a flame in her hands to light her way, finally spotting her staff among the bits of shattered Ogre.

“Solona!” She heard Alistair calling out for her and she answered in kind.

“Everyone still alive?” she shouted, calling the light back to her staff.

“Thank the Maker. When your light went out, I feared the worst,” he said.

“Is that all of the creatures? A pity. I had a lot more crushing in me, still,” Shale sighed.

Solona broadened the light, taking a head count. Everyone was alive, if a little banged up and Alistair rushed to her. “Are you okay? You're bleeding.”

“It's just a scratch. Luckily it wasn't one of the poisonous spiders,” she sighed in relief as she looked down at her own arm and saw that there was no corruption in the wound. Leliana helped her wash and bandage it and then they set off again toward the opposite side of the cavern where a small tunnel led ahead.

It opened up into what must have been the Thaig's commons. Several buildings lined the walls and other structures were built into the middle of the area to serve both as facade and load bearing. They were met by several spirits of former dwarves that had been lost to time, haunting the Thaig, and more than a few golems. How they had been activated was beyond Solona. Shale came in awfully handy when fighting it's kin, in spite of being half their size. It had mentioned to her that it's previous owners wife had had it shrunken down to fit into their home. When Solona had asked exactly how one went about shrinking a golem it had responded snidely, 'With a chisel and a lot of nerve.'

Upon reaching the 'town square', Solona was surprised to see a living dwarf scavenging among the corpses of a few of the large spiders. When he spotted them coming he stood and ran, screaming. Solona gave chase and was forced to stop just outside a tunnel entrance when he spun to face her. “There's nothing for you here! It's mine! I've claimed it!”

He was hunched and agitated, his back and limbs not quite sticking at the correct angles. His skin was splotchy, corruption evident in the black marks on his flesh and the white of his eyes. Solona slowly stepped forward and said, “Who are you? What are you doing down here?”

“You've come to take my claim! You surfacers are all alike, thieving scoundrels! Well, I found it first!” he shouted and cringed at her approach.

“Bah!” Oghren grunted. “He's a bloody scavenger, good as sodding gone.”

“Begone, you! You'll bring the dark ones back, you will! They'll crunch your bones!” The man shouted.

“Word has it you can only survive down here by eating the Darkspawn dead,” Oghren said by way of explanation.

“Darkspawn blood is poison,” Solona gasped. “Men have died form drinking it.”

“It burns when it goes down. It burns!” the dwarf agreed. Then he frowned and turned his ire on Solona again. “It's my claim, not yours! Crunch your bones!”

With his loud exclamation, several of the large spiders descended from webs up on the ceiling. He took the opportunity to flee further into the tunnel and Solona and the others were forced to defend themselves. When the spiders were dead, Solona followed the dwarf into the tunnel which turned out to be a cave that came to a dead end. There was a campfire burning on a short dais near the back of the cave where the dwarf huddled.

“Go away!” he shouted angrily when he saw they had survived. “This is mine! Only I gets to plunder its riches!”

“I just want to talk to you,” Solona said softly, lifting her hands in submission.

“No! No talking! You leave my territory!” he growled.

“I'm not here to steal anything, I promise,” she said with a gentle smile, stepping into the light of the campfire.

He paused, cocking his already cocked head and twitching. “Pretty lady... pretty eyes, pretty hair... smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock... So... the pretty lady won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take Ruck's shiny worms and pretty rocks?”

Solona shrugged. “If it's valuable, I might trade you for it...” She doubted that he had anything of real value, but Solona was willing to bet that he had some crystals that Shale might be able to put to use.

“Oh. Ruck not mind that, maybe...” he said with a grunt.

Then her memory flared and she thought of the kind woman who was running the inn where her companions were staying. “So your name is Ruck?”

“Ruck not pretty name, not pretty like lady. Ruck is small and ugly and twisted,” he said, hanging his head in shame.

“I think I met your mother. Is her name Filda?” she asked.

This information agitated Ruck and he gripped his head with his hands. “N-n-n-no. No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No-no-no-no-no...”

“Your mother misses you,” Solona informed him. “She asked me to find you.” She had never officially asked, but her words had been clear enough. She desperately wanted to find her son.

“Sh-she did not know, not what I did. I was very, very very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, sh-she would know. Everyone would know. So I came here, instead... Once you eat... once you takes in the darkness... you not miss the light so much. You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you.”

Solona cringed, wrapping her arms around her waist as Ruck easily pointed out her own corruption. “You have to tell your mother you're alive,” she said gently.

“No, no, no! She cannot... She remembers a boy, a little boy with bright eyes and a hammer and she cannot see this! Swear-promise-vow you won't tell!” he pleaded, nearly reaching out to her, but shying away at the last moment.

“Would you rather she think you're dead?” Solona asked, a lump forming in her throat.

“Yes! Yes. T-tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again.”

Solona nodded. “All right. I'll tell her you died bravely.”

He smiled briefly, showing a set of blackened and rotting teeth. “Pretty lady is like mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness.”

Solona took a look around the small cave that Ruck had claimed as his, but found nothing of value. She thanked him gently and he sat down on a broken bench to rock back and forth, humming a tuneless melody. When they exited the cave, Oghren tapped her arm. “Did you see the marks on the floor? There were a lot of people and fires there once. Now I know she's not here anymore. She'd never have let something like that sleep in the same spot she did.”

“Then we keep going,” Solona sighed deeply. They found their way through the small city and across a bridge that led to a collection of tunnels leading out. She allowed Oghren to choose the one Branka had taken and they set off.

Solona began to notice that the spiders in the tunnel before them were not attacking anymore. Instead, they fled in their wake, all heading in the same direction. “Do you think there is a nest ahead?” Leliana asked with concern in her voice.

“I really hope not,” Solona shuddered, scratching at the poultice on her arm. She had had enough of the creepy crawlers.

Sure enough further along the path, the tunnels opened up again to a few Darkspawn emissaries that were apparently keeping the spiders as pets. They fought off wave after wave of the eight legged monstrosities until the two emissaries were dead. Then the largest spider Solona had ever seen descended from the maw that was the ceiling. It took their combined efforts to trap and kill the fast moving queen, but once she was dead, the other spiders ceased to attack, retreating into their webs.

Eager to leave, Solona hurried for the opposite end of the room, but her curiosity forced her to a halt. On a raised slab of stone that had served as a table, she spotted a large book. The cover was battered and torn, but when she moved to open it, she realized it had been a journal of some kind. She leafed through the journal and the last few pages caught her attention as the writing became urgent. ' _We found evidence today that the Anvil of the Void was not built in the Ortan Thaig. We will go south, to the Dead Trenches. The Anvil is somewhere beyond. My soldiers tell me I am mad, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with Darkspawn, that we will surely die before we find the Anvil... if we find it. I leave this here in case they're right. If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil. For if it remains lost, so do we all. If I have not returned and Oghren yet lives, tell him... No, what I have to say should be for his ears alone. This is my farewell._ '

Oghren, who had been reading around her elbow chuckled. “Branka was thinking about me! I knew she still cared! Old softy. Looks like the Dead Trenches is our next stop, then. They say the Darkspawn nest there, whole herds of 'em. But if that's where Branka went, then that's where I'm going.”

 

The trip from Ortan Thaig to the Dead Trenches was another three days. Solona's teeth were gritting together as her Warden's senses began to overload. The Darkspawn apparently were extremely numerous in the ruins ahead. Alistair was equally on edge, holding her as close as he could whenever they stopped to rest and clutching to her hand as they traveled the seemingly endless tunnels. Not much lived this far into the Deep Roads.

They came upon a small pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel they were in and Solona was loathe to look at the walls around them. The Darkspawn taint was spreading over the stone like a disease, tendrils of blackened and rotten looking fleshy growths that held the sickly sweet aroma of death. She dimmed her staff, not wanting to see the mess as it got worse. As they approached the light, Solona recognized the scent of a great number of torches burning, the oil fumes adding to the stench and making her dizzy. The moment passed and she breathed shallowly as they stepped out of the tunnel onto a ledge that overlooked a great chasm. The light was coming from below as well as a gigantic lava waterfall on the far end of the biggest cavern that Solona had ever seen. This had to be the entrance to the Dead Trenches. She peered down over the ledge and in the pit below, the entire Darkspawn horde slithered and writhed about, packed together like a sea of maggots on a rotting corpse. Solona was mesmerized. There were so many. The need for every army they could muster redoubling the fist that was clenched around her heart. Alistair gasped at her side, his hand convulsing in hers.

A great cacophany rose from below and an earth shaking shriek interrupted the noise of the horde. A great dragon flew up from the trench and flapped its wings to propel itself to the bridge above them. Solona fell to her knees, the wind from the wings nearly dragging her over the side of the ledge. The Archdemon landed on the bridge and spewed a breath of fire after issuing another ear splitting roar and then flew off. Solona's eyes widened to the point of bulging as she glanced behind her where Alistair was kneeling. He pulled her against him and whispered in her ear. “We can do this. I promise, my dear.”

She took solace in his words because it was all she could do. They stood and moved away from the ledge to follow the path around to another bridge. Before stepping in to assist, Solona took a moment for her jaw to drop to the floor as she saw a group of dwarves with their faces tattooed to look like skulls engaged in a heated battle with the Darkspawn line as they fought to hold the bridge. She and her people intervened on the dwarves behalf and pushed the Darkspawn back across the bridge. When the battle took a brief recess, the leader stepped up to greet her with a wide grin. “Atrast Vala, Grey Warden. I've never seen one of your kind in the Deep Roads.”

“Yet you don't sound surprised,” she answered, taking his offered handshake.

“In the Legion of the Dead, we abandon our lives to be free of fear, free of hopeful blindness. The coming Blight is obvious to us. The surprise is not that you have come, but that you have come in so small a number. What do you want here, Warden?” he asked suspiciously.

“I need to find Paragon Branka,” she informed him, hoping he might know where to look.

He snorted. “Who put that dull idea in your head? We've got other things to worry about in Orzammar... ah, now I see. The deep lords in the Assembly can't make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence. I get that right?”

“That's about it,” Solona nodded, pursing her lips. “You have anything useful to add?”

He sighed deeply. “Warden, you've got your work cut out for you. Paragon Branka is dead, everyone with sense knows it. Past our line, the Darkspawn kill everything.”

“Why hold back?” she asked, wondering what was so important about this spot in particular.

“I'd gladly lead an assault through the Dead Trenches, but without an ass in the throne, we have no orders. I won't take fool's gold from a pretender... You want to go digging blind, you go right ahead.” He waved her off.

“You should be more concerned about the coming Blight.”

“Why?” he asked with another snort, crossing his arms over his heavily armored chest. “The other kingdoms only care when the Darkspawn march in the light. But they are always here, always pushing. Your nightmare is my everyday. Our resolve gives you a rest between Blights. A surge on the surface would give us a break. When the time comes, I'll care for a good dwarven reason. Sod the rest.”

Solona rolled her eyes and sighed. “Goodbye.”

“Good Luck, Grey Warden,” the man said gruffly.

She and her people crossed the bridge to approach an enormously oversized door that blocked entry to the former city. They followed the swarm of Darkspawn to find the way around. The Darkspawn had tunneled through the wall to the left of the door. Getting in was like wading through tar made of Darkspawn. They were definitely in it now. Solona was determined to kill as many as she could. That made for that many fewer in the coming war.

The bridge on the other side of the door was cracked and crumbling, a gigantic chasm opened up below it, hindering their way across. Finding more of the Darkspawn tunnels, they pushed ahead, taking the long way around to the other side. The lava pools lit the dilapidated city almost as well as they lit Orzammar, allowing Solona to focus all of her mana on her spellwork instead of lighting their way. In the tunnels, the darkspawn had torches burning. The air was hazy, telling her that ventilation was not what it used to be, likely gummed up by the ever thickening corruption all around them. “I love what they've done with the place,” Alistair quipped as he skirted a pulsing fleshy sack of Maker knew what. “I think I'll decorate the palace like this when I'm king.”

Solona snorted. “It's definitely inviting.”

“Rather homey,” he agreed. They crossed an intersecting bridge, where in the middle, a flock of shrieks appearing out of thin air to swipe at them with their vicious claws. Careful not to loose her footing on the narrow bridge where it crumbled downwards at the edges, Solona unleashed a chain lightning spell to strike all of the shrieks at once. As they writhed, she smashed one with her staff, knocking it from the bridge and then threw a stone fist at another, knocking it down for Shale to step on. Oghren swung his massive axe over his head with a shout of effort, catching every one circled around him. Alistair knocked one off like she did, pushing it with his shield and Leliana pierced the final one in the head with her arrow after Barkspawn had tackled it to the ground.

Through the door on the other side of the bridge, they found themselves in a great hall of sorts full of walking corpses and an emissary controlling them. Solona focused on the emissary as the others kept the corpses away from her. They fought their way through the tunnels, occassionally running along ancient abandoned structures that were slowly crumbling and being swallowed up by the Darkspawn taint. All of a sudden, they came upon an extremely slippery section of the tunnels, the corruption squishing beneath their boots. It looked to Solona like it had once been an outpost of sorts. An eerie hush fell over the section as they crept along. “Does anyone else hear chanting?” Oghren asked, his gruff voice never quite reaching the whisper he had intended.

“It's like a poem,” Leliana agreed.

Solona strained her ears as the voice began to get clearer and closer. _First day they come and catch everyone._ “Well, that's not creepy,” Alistair said sarcastically as his eyes darted around, constantly on the look out for the Darkspawn that they could feel all around them. _Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

“I feel like I know that voice,” Oghren said his head tipped as he listened. _Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

“As one of the men, I am certain I don't want to know,” Alistair grunted. _Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

 _Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._ “Well, she isn't discriminating at least,” Solona mumbled.

Alistair chuckled nervously. “Yes, I was starting to wonder.” _Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

“Is she talking about the corruption?” Solona wondered, quickening her pace to try and find where the voice was coming from. _Eighth day, we hated as she is violated. Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast..._

The chant began anew and they tracked it to an infested building that smelled of rotten meat. Inside, a dwarven woman knelt beside a pile of the sticky fleshy growths of the taint, digging among the meat. Her face showed clear signs of malnourishment and desiccation, but not of the taint. She was not a ghoul as far as Solona could tell. Not like Ruck. “Hespith?” Oghren gasped in awe.

The woman heard his voice and her head spun to look at the group that had come to her place. She stood, giving Solona a good look at her tattered clothing and sickly appearance. “What is this? A human? Bland and unlikely,” she said, one hand scratching the opposite wrist where a festering wound had opened her flesh. “Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers' faces and open doors.”

“Is this Darkspawn corruption?” Solona mumbled to Alistair. “It looks different.”

“Corruption! The men did that! Their wounds festered and their minds left. They are like dogs, marched ahead, the first to die,” Hespith offered, her head hanging low as if she was remembering something awful. “Not us. Not me. We are not cut. We are fed. Friends and flesh and blood and bile and... and... All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

Solona's heart skipped a beat. “Are you from Branka's house?”

The woman became agitated. “D-do not talk of Branka, of what she did. Ancestors preserve us, forgive me. I was her captain and I didn't stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she had become.”

Oghren grunted and crossed his arms as he realized all at once why he had been the only one of Branka's house to be left behind. “When did you last see her?” Solona asked urgently.

“No more than a few breaths, but longer than an eon. It was... long enough... Long enough to miss her... to love her again... to hate her more than ever. No... I swore not to speak of it, not to think of it. La-la-la-la-la. I will not hear any more about Branka.”

“Help me and I will take you to her,” Solona offered desperately.

She sighed deeply and shook her head. “They spit bile and blood in my mouth! I would rather die than bring that with me, than have... her... see me like this. I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!” Hespith ran off, out of the building and into the shadows beyond. Solona and her party gave chase only to be sidetracked by a pair of angry Ogres blocking their path. While they fought the great beasts, Solona could hear Hespith talking again from somewhere ahead. “She became obsessed... That is the word, but it is not strong enough. Blessed stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil...”

Solona searched the rooms around the open courtyard, but could not track her voice. _We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us..._

When they entered into a large room guarded by several of the spirits of the forgotten dwarves, Oghren gasped again. “Bownammar. I thought it would have fallen into dust by now.”

“There has to be a way through that large locked door,” Alistair suggested.

Leliana floated ahead to the back of the room where a short podium stood. “The key to the city perhaps?” she wondered aloud, picking up an ancient, rusty looking key.

“These are spirits of Legionnaires,” Oghren grunted as he looked over a stone tablet in the center of the room. “They're guarding the entrance to the Thaig so the Darkspawn can't get loose.”

As they went to leave the room with the key, the spirits attacked them, forcing them to destroy the last defense of the Legion of the Dead. There was no going back now. _The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them..._ “I really don't like the sound of that,” Alistair said as Leliana unlocked the massive entry doors to the forgotten Thaig.

“New Darkspawn have to come from somewhere,” Solona said, her stomach churning at the thought.

 _They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them._ The smell ahead was rancid, and Solona suspected they were soon going to happen upon whatever Darkspawn orgy was being described. The walls and ground were thick with taint and every step sunk her foot in the slimy black and red goo. _Broodmother..._

They turned a corner and a great shriek added sound to the already gruesome images flashing through Solona's mind. She dragged her eyes away from her feet to look up and the sight made her take a step backwards into Alistair's chest. He let out a disgusted grunt as his eyes fell on the beast before them. Nestled in a wide opening in the tunnels sat a massive blob of tits and tentacles. It gurgled as it moved, unable to leave the spot where it was fused with the corruption growing up all around it. Five sets of breasts in increasing size from top to bottom made up the entirety of it's body that pooled out below a fat head with no neck to speak of. It's skin on it's face was pulled away from it's teeth, exposing the blackened corruption of it's saliva. It had two fat stubby arms sticking out of it's sides and three pairs of tentacles in varying sizes that writhed and wriggled around the mound of boobs. It wailed at the sight of them, it's voice piercing her ears. She drew her staff when a disembodied tentacle shot up from the ground near her feet and swung in a tight circle, trying to knock her group to the ground.

Shale reached out and grabbed hold of the slippery tentacle with both hands and ripped it in two. The Broodmother shrieked again and the battle was on. It's agonized cries brought Darkspawn crawling from various nooks and crannies around the cavern. Solona, Leliana, and Barkspawn played crowd control while the others attempted to get through the mess of tentacles that were bursting forth from nowhere to block access to the Broodmother. Alistair and Oghren hacked a path for Shale who reached the Broodmother and began to slam it's massive fists into the soft flesh of the monster. That thing had once been a dwarf, a person. It was unfathomable. The Darkspawn needed to be stopped. If she could set fire the the whole of the Deep Roads, Solona would have gladly attempted the feat.

She was sweating profusely, but it seemed like the endless supply of Darkspawn was slowly dwindling. She glanced around at her companions and took note that Alistair had made his way up to where Shale stood. The golem bent and picked him up like a child, shoving him upwards. He climbed the Broodmother, getting his footing on the beast's back. Then he pulled his sword again and stabbed downwards into it's head. All of the tentacles went limp and the Broodmother sagged. The rest of the Darkspawn began to back off, realizing they were currently outmatched. Solona lifted walls of ice in every path leading into the cavern and slumped against her staff as Leliana went around and collected her undamaged arrows. Alistair scrambled down from the Broodmother and landed with a squish in the muck below. He let out a short complaint about his boots before Hespith showed her face again, high above them on a ledge. “That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka... my love... The Stone has punished me, dream-friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal.” With those words she disappeared back into the darkness, silent and gone.

Solona sighed. “Let's go find Branka.”

As they followed the path ahead, Solona could feel magic humming through the walls. There must have been a massive horde of Lyrium nearby. Her skin vibrated with the sensation of the song. When they passed into another cavern, a loud grinding sound echoed around them suddenly before going silent again. “What was that?” Oghren hissed before Solona turned around and realized that the path behind them had been blocked by a wall that had been lifted into place by a mechanism.

Her attention was drawn back in the direction they had been heading when a dusky feminine voice spoke up. “Let me be blunt with you. After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope.”

A dwarf stood above them on an outcropping in full plate armor, a large shield strapped to her back and a sword at her hip. She glared down at them with disinterest as Oghren exclaimed, “Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka? By the stone, I barely recognized you!”

She sniffed with derision. “Oghren. It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily. And how shall I address you?” her eyes fell on Solona. “Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale breath?”

Oghren bristled. “Be respectful, woman! You're talking to a Grey Warden!”

“Ah, so an important errand boy, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side.”

“How do you know I'm not just helping Oghren?” Solona asked, crossing her arms.

Branka snorted and then let out a single HA of laughter. “Because nobody helps Oghren. At best, Oghren's need to find me happened to coincide with the needs of someone more important.”

“Arrrgh!” Oghren shouted. “You are impossible! This Grey Warden's come all the way from the surface to ask your help picking Endrin's successor!”

Branka snorted again. “I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very Darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon to rise. It's here. So close I can taste it,” she ranted.

“But of course there is a catch,” Solona guessed with a sigh.

Branka nodded. “The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking it's secrets. This is what's important. This has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics... all that is transitory. I've given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void.”

“Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?” Solona spat angrily.

“Enough questions!” Branka snapped, slicing her hand through the air before her. “If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There is only one way out Warden. Forward. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil waits.”

“What has this place done to you?” Oghren pleaded. “I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance.”

“I am your Paragon,” Branka said, almost sadly. She turned away from them and Solona sighed. She had not come so far to give up now. Branka was alive and one way or another she was going to give her endorsement. Ferelden was counting on it.

There was an open tunnel leading in the direction that Branka had left. They made their way through to a campsite that was littered with bodies of both dwarves and Darkspawn. It seemed that Branka was the only dwarf remaining alive. She raved about everything that had happened in the last two years to her and her house. In her eyes, they had failed her. Dying when they should have stayed by her side. Branka had definitely lost her marbles. Solona was convinced of that as they fought through a unit of Darkspawn that flooded the camp at the scent of fresh meat. Dead ahead was a long narrow tunnel, barely wide enough for an Ogre to fit through. They slipped inside, Leliana leading the way in case of traps. There were corpses everywhere, including a golem or two. When they reached a doorway, Solona gingerly poked her head in the room. In the middle of the room, four golems stood in a circle. They seemed inactive, but from the piles of bodies around, Solona was certain that at the first sign of a living being, they would come alive. As she looked around, her lungs began to burn. She pulled her head back out of the room, coughing. “The air is poisoned,” she gasped, inhaling a breath on the safe side of the door. Shale pushed them aside and stepped into the room. At first, the golems did not move and Shale made it's way to the middle of the room to look around. Solona could now see the greenish haze in the air as it swirled around the golem. Finally, Shale must have spotted something because it moved to the side of the room with purpose. It grabbed something and gave a great heave. A thundering sound of grinding metal indicated that it had done something. As Shale moved around the sleeping golems and pulled three more levers, Solona noticed the air beginning to clear. The levers must have blocked the flow of the poison. She covered her mouth and nose with a hand and stepped into the room. The second her foot hit the stone walkway, one of the golems roared to life, pounding the ground four times in rapid succession, knocking Solona off her feet. She scrambled up and backed away to join the others who prepared themselves to fight. Shale attacked the much larger golem, distracting it while Solona prepared some lightning spells. One by one, the four golems all came to life, one activating as the previous one fell. When they all laid on the ground, reduced to piles of rock, Solona immediately pressed forward. She was careful to avoid the deposits of Lyrium that lined the walls, cropping up here and there to stick out into the path. This was not the Fade, and touching so much Lyrium, as a mage, would overload her nervous system.

The tunnel wound around, but now that they were in the thick of the gauntlet, there were no more Darkspawn or fresh dwarf corpses. Most, Solona guessed, had not made it past the poison and the golems in the first room. A daunting task for sure. The next room had more golems to fight and some traps for Leliana to disable while they distracted the threats. It felt like a strangely simple task. When they moved ahead, barely scathed, the hair all over Solona's body began to stand at attention. She shuddered as the hum of pure lyrium fluttered over her skin. Through the tunnel, they came upon a massive, wide open room. On the ceiling was the largest deposit of lyrium that Solona had ever seen. It twisted and snaked in swirls of blue, all gathering at a central point. Built down from the deposit was a large stone structure with faces carved into the four sides. As they stepped foot in the room, the statue roared to life, spinning back and forth to show her the glowing light of magic in the eyes of the faces. There were four podiums shaped like anvils surrounding the structure and magic spewed from the faces, pulling a spirit into existence to stand guard at the podiums. Solona could feel the ebb and flow of magic between the spinning statue and the podiums, marking their connection. The spirits were inside the podiums and the lyrium in the statue drew them forth.

The spirits attacked with great vigor, but Solona was certain she had the magic figured out. She had her people focus on one spirit at a time. When they spirit receded into it's podium, Solona pressed her palm down on the glistening surface and dispelled the flow of magic. A great boom sounded over head as the magic slammed back into the statue, the eyes going from glowing blue to dripping magic as if crying tears of blood. The spirits still alive around the statue retreated and the statue spun again. It was an arduous process that took a good fifteen minutes for them to defeat. Every face had to be hit with the dispel twice before the magic broke all together. Finally, the cavern shuddered and a plume of smoke billowed from the statue before it fell silent. “That's something you don't see everyday,” Alistair quipped, sheathing his sword.

“It's no wonder it's taken Branka this long to get nowhere,” Solona agreed.

“I hope that is the end of it,” Leliana sighed.

They left the cavern, the lyrium still calling to Solona. Through a closed door, they entered an alcove that opened into a room full of sleeping golems. In the center stood a golem made of not stone, but steel. In the far back of the room was a ledge that fell into a chasm with lava falls pouring into it to light the massive space. A ray of light shone down from above to highlight a great lyrium infused Anvil. Solona approached the steel golem to marvel at the craftsmanship and squeaked in fright as it spoke to her, sparks of lightning arching softly between its joints and limbs. “My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar.”

Shale stepped up beside Solona and frowned. “Cairidin? The Paragon Smith? Alive?”

The steel golem's head turned slightly to regard Shale. “Ah, there is a voice I recognize. Shayle of House Cadash, step forward.”

“You... know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?” Shale asked in confusion.

“Have you forgotten, then?” The great golem sighed. It was a hollow sound, like wind blowing around inside of a metal bucket. “It has been so long... I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf... Just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer.”

“The only... woman? A dwarf?” Shale asked again, shock evident in her tone.

“I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you into the form you now possess,” Caridin explained.

“The Anvil of the Void... that is what we seek,” Shale said.

“If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it,” Caridin warned.

“You made the Anvil, I take it?” Solona asked.

“Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item... The Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

Solona hugged herself. “That sounds like blood magic. A dangerous road.”

“The Darkspawn were pressing in. Originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men... casteless and criminals... his political enemies... all of them were to be given to the Anvil. It took feeling the hammer's blow myself to realize the height of my crimes.”

“So you sealed it away? Orzammar could use it,” Solona suggested, wondering how many dwarves would be willing to become golems to fight the Blight.

“No! I entombed myself here to find a way to destroy the Anvil! It must not be used again!” Caridin pleaded.

“No! The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!” Branka shouted, running into the cavern, having made her way in behind Solona and the others. Solona shuddered, realizing that Branka's madness had nearly rubbed off on her. Caridin had told her that living beings were sacrificed to become golems. What had she been thinking?

“Shayle...” Caridin begged. “You fought to destroy the Anvil once! Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!”

Shale scoffed. “You speak of things I do not remember. You say we fought... did you use our control rods to command us to do so?”

“I destroyed the rods!” Caridin boomed in a tone that made Solona believe him. “Perhaps my apprentices eventually learned to replace the rods, I do not know, but if so, then all they need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they need! You!” he called to Solona. “Please... help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!”

“You were a Paragon. I'll help if you support a new king,” she agreed, realizing Branka's death would get her nowhere if it came to that.

“Don't listen!” Branka shouted, her weapons already in hand. “He's been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness. Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you've never seen!”

“Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail. Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?” Oghren shouted angrily.

“Look around,” Branka said sadly. “Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with Darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

Solona was already shaking her head. “The Anvil enslaves living souls. It must be destroyed.”

“So it fights with Caridin? Good, that seems right,” Shale agreed, nodding.

“Thank you, stranger. Your compassion shames me,” Caridin said with a metallic sigh of relief.

“No! You will not take it! Not while I still live!” Branka growled.

“Branka! Don't throw your life away for this!” Oghren pleaded, resolutely standing still at Solona's side.

“We have to destroy the Anvil, Branka,” Solona reasoned.

Oghren growled. “Just give her the blasted thing! She's confused... maybe once she calms down, we can talk to her!”

“That's not a risk I'm willing to take,” Solona said apologetically.

“Bah!” Branka scoffed, a flash of white appearing in her hands. “You are not the only master smith here, Caridin! Golems, obey me! Attack!” She held the arm up and a long, bone white rod was clutched in her hands. Half of the surrounding golems came to life, the white hue of their glowing magic turned to red.

“A control rod!” Caridin shouted, a heavy grinding sound making Solona realize that he was unable to move from the rod. “But... my friend, you must help me! I cannot stop her alone!”

The golems surged forward, some of them finding the will to fight on their side. A series of pounding sounds of stone against stone echoed throughout the cavern as the golems fought each other. Solona focused her attention on Branka who was simultaneously directing her golems and lashing out at anyone who got too near her. Oghren stayed away from her, choosing to fight golems instead. Each time Solona attempted to get closer, or throw a spell at Branka, she found herself engaged with another golem as the woman protected herself. Slowly but surely, even the golems on their side began to turn under Branka's will.

Solona finally had enough and she called upon her earth magic to shake the ground violently beneath them. It knocked everyone off balance, Branka included and Solona slipped in, unaffected by her own magic. She quickly traced a glyph before her and shoved mana through it, hurling bolts of ice toward Branka. They all pushed against her heavy armor, driving her back, but not doing much damage. Solona reached deeper and unleashed a winter's grasp spell, holding Branka in place. Then she drew a glyph beneath the woman and pulled the power from the earth to explode in a burst of flames. The sound echoed through the cavern as the spell quickly dropped Branka to the ground. Solona finished her with a fist of the Maker, ending the muffled whimpers from her broken body. The golems all froze as Branka perished. Solona quietly turned and moved to stand before Caridin again. He sighed deeply. “Another life lost because of my invention. I wish no mention of it had made it into history.”

“Yeah, you ain't kidding,” Oghren agreed, sidling up next to Solona, his axe hefted over his shoulder. “Stupid woman! Always knew the Anvil would kill her.”

Shale cleared her throat with the sound of gravel. “How is it that the woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?”

“I do not know. Have you been altered?” he asked curiously.

“I once had a pathetic little mage of a master. He... did something to me. Experimented on me. And then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed.”

“Hmm. Perhaps he was bringing forth old memories? And caused you to remember the time when... you fought at my side. The paralysis you speak of always resulted when the master perished. As for your free will... you were always a strong woman, Shayle. I am pleased to see you remained such. If the metal helmet that was his face could have smiled, Caridin likely would have done so.

“I don't know what to say. Thank You,” Shale said a bit breathily.

Cairidin sighed and shook his head. “Do not thank me. All of this... this is my doing, my legacy. But at least it ends here. I thank you for standing with me, stranger. The Anvil waits there for you to shatter it. Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favor before I am freed from my burden?”

Solona bit her lip, knowing that she needed his support for the throne, but Oghren stood beside her looking lost. “Oghren? You lost Branka to this. What do you want?”

“Huh,” he grunted in surprise. “Don't suppose you can bring Branka back? Maybe make her a golem, like you?”

Caridin hung his head. “I would not do such a thing to her even if I could.”

“Somehow I didn't think so. Then I don't want anything that would remind me of... this. Best it's just done. There... is still the matter of the election. I mean... we still need a Paragon to get the Assembly's support, right?”

Caridin shuffled his feet. “For the aid you've given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice.”

He turned away from her and headed toward the Anvil. Solona glanced around for somewhere to sit while they waited. She was exhausted. She noticed a large dwarven statue in the corner to the left and in spite of her weariness, she approached it with interest. It the statue's hands was a large stone tablet, chipped with age. There was a great number of dwarven runes carved into it's surface, and Solona noticed that Shale had followed her. When she looked closer at the tablet, she recognized a few dwarven house names and their house stamps beside them. She touched the ancient tablet, running her fingers over the words and translated as best she could. She mumbled under her breath. “We honor those who have made this sacrifice, let their names be remembered.” She glanced at Shale who was staring in awe as well. “Shale, do you recognize this at all?”

“No, perhaps it thinks I should? It may have something to do with Caridin's words. If there is some way to make a copy of these runes, I am willing to study them. Perhaps there is something to be gleaned from them, I know not.”

Oghren shuffled up to them as well and grumbled. “Huh. Names. A long list of dwarves. Err... hold on... 'We honor those who have made this sacrifice, let their names be remembered'. Fart me a lullaby! It's a memorial... of all the dwarves who became golems? Has to be! If there was some way of getting this back to the Shaperate in Orzammar. I'd bet they'd brown their trousers! And pay good gold for it. Probably both.”

Leliana knelt to fish in her pack after hearing Oghren's words. “Good thing I never go anywhere without a large stack of parchment.”

While Caridin forged their crown, Solona, Leliana and Alistair took a rubbing of the tablet. When they finished, Solona neatly stacked them together and placed them carefully in her own pack. She had never gotten her moment to rest, as Caridin finished with the crown. “There,” he stated proudly. “It is done. Give it to whom you will. I do not wish to hear their names, nor anything more of them. I have already lived far beyond my time. I have no place here.” The crown glittered with gold inlays and had small veins of lyrium forged inside the metal. It was a true work of art.

Solona handed the crown off to Alistair and said, “I will destroy the Anvil, as agreed.”

“That would please me, human.” Cairdin said, following behind her to the dais where the Anvil stood. Solona picked up the hammer, hefting the heavy bit of solid metal. She channeled some magic into her swing, the hammer and the magic combining to crack the Anvil in two. Caridin sighed in relief. “You have my eternal thanks, stranger. Atrast nal tunsha... may you always find your way in the dark.” With that, he stepped up to the ledge and dropped himself into the lava river far below.

“Well, that pretty much beat the sod out of how I imagined it,” Oghren sighed as she left the Anvil and rejoined the others. “You ready to head back yet and share the news?”

“To the Assembly,” Solona agreed. “They need to know as soon as possible.”

Oghren snorted. “Eh, those deshyrs have been trying to destroy the city for years. Haven't managed yet.”

 

They managed to make the trek back to Orzammar in five days, with far less resistance and the marks on the walls that they had left to track the right path on the way in. They didn't even stop to clean up from their travels, heading straight to the Assembly. When they entered, the crowd was in an uproar as Bhelen incited trouble. The Steward spoke calmly and harshly. “Lords of the Assembly, I call for order. This argument gets us nowhere!”

“Then why these delaying tactics?” Bhelen argued. “I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?”

Harrowmont spoke up, his voice calm as usual. “Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him.”

The guard that held the door moved to the center of the room. “I apologize for the interruption, Lord Steward, but the Grey Warden has returned.”

“We should let the Warden speak!” Harrowmont said over the cacophony that rose at the announcement as she strode into the room. “What news do you bring?”

Solona moved the crown from under her arm and held it out for them to see. “I bear a crown from Paragon Caridin, for his chosen king.”

Oghren stepped up to explain. “Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem. This Warden granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar's next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves.” Oghren sure knew how to work the crowd. Murmurs rose all around the hall as the deshyrs discussed it.

“And we are supposed to trust this, the word of a drunken sot and a Grey Warden known to be in Harrowmont's pocket?” Bhelen demanded.

“Silence!” the steward roared and the hall fell quiet. He approached Solona and studied the crown. “This crown is of Paragon make and bears House Ortan's ancient seal. Tell us, Warden. Whom did Caridin choose?”

“Caridin chose Harrowmont,” Solona said with determination.

Harrowmont tipped his head. “I appreciate your forthrightness, Warden. You have acted with grace through this entire torturous process.”

Harrowmont came down from the dais where he stood and the Steward took the crown from Solona's hands. “Let the Memories find you worthy, first amidst the lords of the houses, the king of Orzammar.” Harrowmont knelt and the Steward placed the crown on his head.

Before he even had the chance to stand, Bhelen shouted in outrage. “I will not abide by this!”

Another deshyr spoke out. “The ancestors have spoken!”

“Harrowmont is your king, stand behind him,” Solona growled. She had gone through far too much to allow Bhelen to cause a riot over Harrowmont's victory.

“Would you let a surfacer decide the fate of the dwarves?!” Bhelen shouted.

He drew a sword and a number of the other deshyrs joined him. “Watch out! They brought weapons!” Someone shouted.

Bhelen charged at Solona and was stopped in his tracks before he reached her by a wall created by Alistair and his shield. He fell back and Alistair was distracted by the other deshyrs on Bhelen's side. Solona pulled her staff as Bhelen recovered and charged her again. She hit him square in the chest with a stone fist and then spun her staff to slam into the side of his head. A gash opened up in his temple and he stumbled to the side. She didn't bother to summon magic at first, simply brought her staff down again. Then she encased his crumpled form in a crushing prison that squeezed the life from him. As the other deshyrs fell to the guards and her people, the Assembly once again came back to order. Harrowmont sighed as he jogged up to be sure Solona was all right.

“I admit, I did not think even Bhelen would defy the word of a Paragon. Nor that so many would follow him. But most of Orzammar has seen him for what he really is, and I trust we will bring this insurgency under control.”

“I have faith in you, King Harrowmont,” Solona said with a bow.

He smiled gratefully. “Indeed. More than anyone but my wife, Warden, and I thank you for it. Those loyal to the throne will begin preparations for a surface mission immediately. Orzammar will fulfill its treaties... Now if you'll excuse me, I must get to the palace and set our plans in motion.”

She chuckled. “Don't I get a statue or something in my honor?”

He smiled gently and returned his own chuckle. “I'll talk to a sculptor, see what we can do.” She bowed once more and allowed him to go about his new duties as king. “I wish you luck against the Blight, Warden. May we foster another four centuries of peace.”

Solona was ready for a long nap outside the mountain, but she had some business to attend to before she could gather her people and leave. First, she dropped the tracings at the Shaperate, hefting a bag full of gold away for her troubles. Outside the Assembly, she noticed the Legion of the Dead leader that she had met in the Deep Roads. He grinned at her and said. “The throne restored and legends put to rest. Incredible. If I'd heard it second hand, I'd have called it a sodding lie. Warden, we've got a king because of you. The rest, impressive, but the Legion is grateful most for restored leadership. It frees us to fight the Darkspawn properly.”

“Can I count on you to fight the Blight at my side?” she asked hopefully.

“Nay,” he said sadly. “Our place is down here. When you break the Blight, and you've got the skill, we'll make sure they have nowhere to retreat. You'll have us indirectly. That's more than any surfacer can say.”

She pursed her lips in disbelief. “We need you topside. Show the world your skill,” she said persuasively.

He hummed and crossed his arms with a chuckle. “You alone have the skill to back up your words. Each of the Legion owes our homeland a death, but if our lives are better shed on the surface, so be it.” he reached out and shook her hand roughly. “Back to Orzammar when we win, though. I'll not stay topside to lose my stone sense.”

 


	10. The In between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A but of fluff and character development as Solona and her companions travel toward the Brecilian Forest to find the Dalish elves.

They made their way back to the inn where Solona gathered her people and got them ready to head out. She cautiously painted a picture of Ruck to his mother, unable to bring herself to lie to the woman. Closure was important. Oghren seemed to have invited himself to stay with Solona, and she did not object. He was as good in a fight as she had suspected. When they left the city, stepping into the bright sunlight, Solona breathed a sigh of relief as Oghren grunted and then sighed deeply. “Gimme a moment.”

He gazed up into the sky, his mouth agape. “Sure, take your time,” Solona agreed as the others passed them to go down the steps and into the market.

“By the Stone,” he exclaimed. “I feel like I'm about to fall off the world with all that sky up there.”

“Is it that strange to you?” she asked.

“Strange?” he asked glancing at her and chuckling throatily. “Strange is your wife turning out to prefer the ladies. Not living in a world without a bleeding ceiling...” With one last glance at the cloudless sky, he continued. “Well, let's get moving. We're losing... whatchacallit? Daylight.”

As they made their way out of the mountains, Oghren complaining about the cold and marveling at the snow on the ground, Solona noticed Shale being uncharacteristically quiet. They even passed an entire flock of pigeons and she did not even chase after them, threatening a good squishing. They found a spot at the base of the mountain as the sun began to slip below the horizon and they set up their camp. Solona watched Shale lumber to the edge of the clearing to find a spot to keep watch and followed. She sat down beside the mountain of stone and looked up at her, asking with her eyes what was the matter. “Shayle of House Cadash... Is that who I once was? I find this difficult to believe.”

Solona shrugged. “I don't find it difficult to believe at all.”

“Then I envy it's imagination...” Shale said derisively. “If I was this Shayle of House Cadash as Caridin said, there must be some evidence of my existence remaining. I must find it.”

“You think something will trigger your memory?” Solona asked with curiosity.

“I need to _know_ that this is the truth, and not simply believe. What Caridin said, it has allowed me to remember one thing. I believe I know where Cadash Thaig is.”

“We can go there, if you like,” Solona offered. She had already gone out of their way to help others of their party. Why not Shale?

“It's offer is appreciated. I will mark the location on its map. If we can journey there soon, I am most curious as to what we will find.”

Solona stood and patted Shale on her shoulder offering a smile, then she left her to her musing. She returned to the warmth of the now blazing campfire and huddled down next to Alistair who was poking the logs with a stick so they would heat the pot above it faster. From across the camp, Oghren made a strangled cry of annoyance. “Ach! Leliana, get this stupid beast out of here.”

“I am sorry Oghren, was he disturbing you?” she asked softly, moving to pick up the squirmy nug.

“No, but if he isn't careful, I'm gonna start thinking about how delicious he looks. A little taste of home, eh?” He chuckled wryly.

Leliana hugged the nug closer to her chest. “Um, I will make sure Schmooples is never underfoot again.”

Oghren raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Schmooples? You named a nug Schmooples? Last thing we need around here is a walking snack named Schmooples!”

Solona giggled and looked up at Alistair who was grinning at the exchange as well. “So,” he said quietly as she wrapped both her arms around his one. “Are you feeling better? You're much less... tense... than you were underground.”

“No more mountain to fall on my head. I'd say it's a good day,” she agreed.

“I'm just glad for the fresh air. The smell of taint gets old after a while,” he grinned.

She snorted. “I swear by Andraste, I will be the only Warden who skips her Calling because I don't want to die with a mountain over my head.”

He cringed as she mentioned the Calling, but said nothing. She knew he didn't like thinking about either of them having to go into the Deep Roads when their time came. “At least we get to sleep under the stars tonight,” he smiled, leaning down to give her a soft kiss.

Oghren laughed as if dirty thoughts were crossing his mind as he caught them together. “So, with the boss, aye?” he said suggestively, his brows wiggling.

“Pardon?” Alistair said, his ears reddening.

Oghren took a swig from his flask and said, “You and the boss. Rolling your oats.”

“I don't know...” Alistair said slowly, his eyes narrowing.

“Polishing the footstones...” Oghren chuckled.

“What you're...” Alistair continued, working out in his head the images that went with Oghren's suggestions as Solona giggled.

“Tapping the midnight still, if you will...” Oghren took another sip, winking.

“What are you going on about?” Alistair asked, knowing full well what Oghren was saying, his ears giving it away as they burned bright red.

“Forging the moaning statue. Bucking the forbidden horse. Donning the velvet hat...” Oghren said, his voice getting louder with each innuendo.

As Solona nearly fell out of her seat laughing, Alistair chuckled himself. “Are you just making these up right now?”

Oghren chuckled. “Nope. Been saving 'em. Hey, I got a question. What did you do with her legs?”

“Whose legs?” Alistair asked glancing at Solona, frowning.

“Her legs,” Oghren pointed, to confirm he was still referring to Solona. “That's the problem with dwarven legs. They're useless as an accessory.”

“I didn't do anything with them. I don't know what...” Alistair stuttered.

“Ah, say no more. Just got 'em outta the way and went about your business. Good on you, son,” Oghren tipped his flask toward Alistair and winked at Solona.

“Uhm. Thanks...” Alistair said, shaking his head in embarrassment.

“What exactly are you drinking my fine dwarven friend?” Zevran asked, sitting down near Oghren and breaking Oghren out of his obsession with teasing Alistair.

“You can't have any,” Oghren grunted, pulling his flask close to his chest.

“Do not worry, I won't. The stench is worse than your feet,” Zevran said, wrinkling his nose.

“What're you doing smelling my feet, uh? Is that some kind of Antivan perversion?” Oghren asked, his brows raised.

Zevran lowered his voice. “It is difficult not to smell your feet. Perhaps _in_ Antiva.”

Oghren frowned. “Now you're beginning to sound like Branka.”

“Well, she must have been a dwarf with astoundingly clean feet,” Zevran chuckled.

The banter faded into the background as Solona again nuzzled against Alistair, resting her head on his shoulder. She stared into the flames for a while, wondering if she would ever become like Caridin. Would she ever become bitter over the decisions she had made and the people that had been killed as a result. Her own personal body count in this war had reached astronomical numbers. She shuddered at the thought and Alistair's arm found it's way around her shoulders. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded and looked up at him to smile. “Yeah. I was just thinking about Caridin. What a waste of life. Branka too.” She sighed. “I wish there had been a better way.”

“You did the best you could,” Alistair assured her, kissing her forehead.

“I know,” she said, sitting up and stretching. “I just hope I was right.”

 

Solona kept her promise, allowing for a three day detour to take Shale to Cadash Thaig, where the golem began to remember who she had been before she was a golem. The night after in camp, Shale approached Solona and sighed deeply. “It occurs to me that I have been...” she sighed again. “Excuse me, this is not easy... It occurs to me that I have been less than charitable with it since it reanimated me.”

Solona smiled. “You have good reasons, I think.”

“I have come to realize that it has been good to me...” she paused and swallowed. “ _You_ have been good to me... even though you had no control rod to enforce obedience. I have... never had one before, so I don't know how to... thank you. For being... you know.”

“A soft, squishy flesh creature?” Solona quipped with a grin.

Shale scoffed. “That too... I followed you expecting to find answers to my questions, but I think I have found something better.”

Solona patted the great hunk of rock on the shoulder. “I am honored, Shale.”

Shale shuddered, her stones crackling together. “Now let us not speak of this awkward bonding moment ever again...” She turned and bounded away, finding a place to sit on the edges of camp.

“What was that all about?” Alistair asked, moving up behind Solona to slip his arms around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Shale just referred to me as 'you',” Solona said with a chuckle.

“Is it supposed to snow today?” Alistair said in amusement.

Their next stop was in Redcliffe village to see if Dwynn had Sten's sword still in his possession. When Solona was able to retrieve it, the Qunari was astounded. “Strange...” he said gruffly, staring down at the Sword in his hands. “I had almost forgotten it... Completion. Are you sure you're a Grey Warden? I think you must be an ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war.”

“You're welcome, Sten,” Solona said, swearing she saw the very first smile she had ever seen on the Qunari's face.

He hung his head. “I would thank you for this, if I knew how. And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended. Don't you agree?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

Now he definitely smiled and then said, “Then lead the way.”

 

On the way to find the Dalish elves in the Brecilian Forest, Solona took the map that Cailan's guard had given her and as they passed by the road to Ostagar, she, Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana took the side trip to revisit the site of the King's defeat.

The area was crawling with Darkspawn. They entered from the Wilds side of the camp and when they had struck down the Darkspawn in their immediate vicinity, Alistair harrumphed. “You've got to hand it to the Darkspawn. They sure know how to make a place feel desolate and foreboding.”

He was right of course. The last time she had been here, the place had been filled with soldiers milling about, servants scurrying around doing business and the general bustle of a war camp. Now there was not much else than the Darkspawn, corpses, and the occasional crow scavenging off what was left. It smelled of decay and the first snow of the season had fallen to cover up the remaining signs of life. Their path was blocked by several barriers that the Darkspawn had erected to funnel any visitors into the groups of them that were gathered in the small open areas. Solona recognized the table where she had met with King Cailan to discuss her duties in the battle, turned on it's side with a map still pinned to it's surface, flapping in the wind as it blew through the tunnel created by the ruins.

“Something about returning here makes me feel old, Wynne,” Alistair said as he followed behind her.

Wynne scoffed. “And what exactly are you implying, Alistair?”

She could picture his ears reddening as he spoke. “What? Nothing... No... I just thought...”

“You just thought I might be an expert at feeling old, and could share some sage advice?” Wynne asked, clearly teasing him.

“I.. I just mean that I was a different person then...” he stuttered. “I believed him, you know. That it would be a glorious battle... That we would win.”

“I did too,” Wynne agreed with a sigh. “We were all a little bit younger the last time we were here.”

“Well, not you... You've always been old,” he quipped, returning the light teasing to lighten the tense mood.

“With lip like that, son, you'll be lucky if you live to be half my age,” she retorted.

As they made their way toward the main body of the camp where the map indicated he had buried the key to Cailan's chest, Solona recognized a shining golden pair of boots strapped onto one of the Darkspawn they were fighting. After it was dead, she and Alistair approached it to pry the stolen boots from it's feet. “Ugh,” Alistair choked. “I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but they're definitely Cailan's.”

“Do you think the Darkspawn split up his things among their leaders?” She asked softly, a hand falling on his shoulder.

“This one was clearly an alpha, so it seems you may be right,” he agreed with a sigh, storing the boots in a sack they had brought along for this specific purpose.

“What's the matter Alistair?” Wynne asked gently in response to his solemn expression.

He sighed. “I don't know... It just feels wrong to find this here, pawed over by Darkspawn and thick with their rot. It was _his_.”

“I know,” she said consolingly. “I feel it too. But he isn't the first king ever to fall in battle or even the first to fall to the Darkspawn.”

“Yes, but this wound cuts deeper,” he growled.

“And it will bleed longer, but we must keep moving. No doubt the Darkspawn are eager to give us plenty more reasons to mourn.” Wynne finished.

Solona had a thought and she held up a finger, recognizing the place where they had first met. She hurried up the short ramp into the old temple where she had taken the Joining. The table where the chalice had been left was overturned like the war table, and she poked around in the snow, attempting to see if the cup had survived. Finally she spotted the shimmer of silver that stuck up out of the snow. She dig up the chalice and brushed the snow and dirt from the griffon symbol on the side. Standing from her crouch, she hurried back down to her people and handed Alistair the cup. His mouth opened and closed as he took it from her, but he clearly had no words. She closed her hands around his as he clutched the cup and offered him a consoling smile. He added the chalice to the bag and they continued forward.

Finding the statue that Elric had indicated, she knelt and found some stones that had been disturbed, clearly before the snow had fallen. She pushed the rubble aside and found the key. Pocketing it, they headed for the section of camp where Cailan and Loghain had set up their tents. They found Cailan's shield and his gauntlets along the way, more of the Alphas having claimed them.

The chest stuck up from a mound of snow and Solona knelt, her knees soaking up the moisture as the snow melted under her body warmth. The lock turned easily after she inserted the key and she lifted the heavy lid. “Inside, there was a sword of fine make, humming with magic. It was the sword of King Maric, passed down to his son. It was said to repel Darkspawn with it's magic. She lifted it from the chest and stood, handing it to Alistair. “This belongs to you,” she said with a smile.

He took the weapon from her hands, setting down the bag of Cailan's armor and pulling the sword from it's sheathe The blade was made of dragonbone and had dwarven runes emblazoned up and down the length which glowed blue. Solona reached out and touched the blade, the runes humming with power. It was a magnificent weapon, fit for a king. When Alistair held it, she could see the potential in him, stirring in his blue eyes. Behind her, Leliana reached into the chest and pulled out several scrolls. After a few moments that Solona spent starstruck, Leliana said, “Look at these documents!”

Solona took the offered scrolls and her eyes scanned over the words. Alistair gasped at her side as he read over her shoulder. “So it's true! He had convinced the forces of Orlais to ally against the Darkspawn.”

“Empress Celene was eagerly awaiting his response,” Wynne agreed from her other shoulder.

“A response that never came, and now never will, thanks to Loghain's treachery,” Alistair growled.

“Never is a long time, Alistair. Give it time and let cooler heads prevail. There will be peace between us yet,” Wynne insisted.

“Well, I hope you live to see it, Wynne,” he said with a smile.

She frowned and said, “And I hope the Darkspawn don't.”

With the chest empty, they headed toward the Tower of Ishal where she and Alistair had been overrun. Crossing over the long bridge to the tower, Solona stopped in the middle, her eyes almost refusing to see what they were looking at. On a poorly erected totem, Cailan's body had been stripped naked and crucified. From the look of it, he had been crushed to death before they had maimed and desecrated his corpse. Flashes of memories surfaced as a lump formed in her throat and tears in her eyes. She had barely known the man, but he had been a humble and kind person. His smile and laughter reminded her much of Alistair and her heart clenched as his too similar face looked down on her, his blonde hair matted and caked to his cheeks. There was no time to mourn as a noise across the bridge drew her attention. An emissary twirled a staff on the far side of the chasm and several of the corpses that lined the bridge came alive and began to shuffle towards them.

Solona released her anger on the fiends, conjuring a gigantic fireball that slammed into the ground between the corpses and splashed all around to set them ablaze. They crumpled quickly, their second lives snuffed out. She wasted one last glance at the king as Alistair mumbled a short prayer and said, “Forgive us, my king. Once we've flushed the Darkspawn from their holes and bought ourselves some time, we'll be back to see you to the Maker.”

Alistair had mentioned not being close at all with his brother, but if the sight was hitting her as hard as it was, she couldn't imagine how he must feel. She walked close to his side as they followed the Bridge to the tower. A slew of Darkspawn stood between them and the tower, but between hers and Alistair's grief, they did not stand a chance. They chased the necromancer through the courtyard and into the tower. Solona noticed during the pursuit that it was wearing Cailan's breastplate. They fought through more Darkspawn and it's minions to the giant hole in the ground floor that Solona remembered wishing she could have plugged the first time they were there. She immediately sat down on the edge and Alistair helped her drop down into the darkness below. Leliana and Wynne followed and then Alistair jumped in himself. The basement had clearly been occupied by the Darkspawn for quite some time, their taint beginning to grow on the walls. It was a constant battle through the ruins and it led them out onto the battlefield where the armies had clashed at the gates of Ostagar. The necromancer was waiting for them and it waved it's staff again. A massive Ogre stood from the ground, two familiar pommels sticking from its heavily pierced chest. They were Duncan's silverite blades. Alistair roared in anger as Duncan's last moments fell into place in Solona's mind. From the state of Cailan's body, that very Ogre had likely picked him up and crushed his body, spurring Duncan into action. He had jumped on the Ogre, using his blades to climb it's body and then felling the massive beast with a sword through the heart. Somehow, after the beast fell, he had been killed before he could retrieve his weapons. Perhaps he had been injured before, slowing his reaction. Had he died knowing that they had been betrayed? Or did he die thinking that she and Alistair had failed, before they lit the beacon? Alistair charged the Ogre and Solona was forced into action as the necromancer continued to raise the hundreds of dead on the battle field. She ran past the Ogre as Alistair slashed and bashed it and Leliana pierced it over and over again with arrows. Wynne joined Solona and they combined their skills to take out the necromancer, Wynne drawing a glyph of repulsion on the ground at their feet to keep the corpses away from them as they cast.

She heard the Ogre fall behind them and Alistair shouted a victory cry. Arrows began to fly past her into the necromancer as Leliana assisted. When it finally shattered under Wynne's petrification and Solona's stone fist, the remaining reanimated corpses fell with sickening thuds. Solona approached the emissary and stripped Cailan's breastplate from it, giving it a swift kick in the head which caused the severed appendage to roll away. Alistair sighed, approaching them laden with so many weapons that he looked a little ridiculous. “There it is, the last of them...” he said as Wynne gently took Duncan's weapons from his arms.

“It has been a long day. By the lines around your eyes, I dare say you look as old as me,” she chuckled, again lightening the mood.

“And if I may say so, m'lady, you appear to be getting younger by the day,” he replied, a small grin forming on his face.

Wynne took it a step further, teasing him relentlessly as Solona looked on in amusement. “Be careful who you flirt with, young man. When you wake up beside me tomorrow morning, I'll be back to reminding you of your grandmother.”

“Beside you?” he stuttered.

“You heard what I said. It would not be the first time I woke to a younger man in my bed,” she smirked.

He frowned, his nose wrinkling, “Are all women this evil and conniving when they grow old?”

“Just me, my dear,” she said patting his cheek. “Just me.”

They returned to the bridge where Cailan still hung, several spears jutting from his pale chest. Solona felt Alistair's hand find hers as the sack with Cailan's armor in it fell to the ground. “Are you all right?” she whispered softly.

“Ugh,” he sighed. “They've left him here to rot. We need to do something.”

“He is of royal blood,” Solona said. “He deserves a pyre.”

Alistair nodded slowly. “He was a good man who hoped too much and died too young. He deserves what little honor we can afford to grant him.”

She patted his hand and then extricated hers. “Wynne?” she asked, already summoning her mana to use her magic to help gently bring down the totem. Wynne steadied the spell with help from the spirit that had saved her life in the circle tower. They lifted the king's body from the totem and together they moved him as gently as possible to a wooded area just outside the ruins. They all pitched in to build the pyre and then Wynne and Solona lifted him again to place him on the great pile of sticks and brush. Solona lit the pyre with a touch of her fingers and then stood respectfully watching as her three companions all said a prayer to the Maker for the king. This was Solona's first funeral. She admittedly had no idea what to say, so she remained silent, content with her memories of Cailan.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Alistair finally broke the respectful silence. “We should find a safe place to camp for the night. We have a Witch to confront tomorrow.”

Solona had almost forgotten her plans to find Flemeth in the morning in all the stress and emotion of the day. As long as they were so close to the Wilds and Morrigan was nowhere around, she had decided it was best to take care of Flemeth along the way.

They hunted down a generally Darkspawn free area in the Wilds, Leliana and Wynne going directly to sleep as Solona joined Alistair to sit on a fallen tree. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.

He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles, sighing as he stared at the bag full of Cailan's armor, and Duncan's sword and dagger propped against it. “I assume you've worked it out in your head how they died?” Alistair said, his voice ragged.

She nodded and then bit her lip. “I'm sorry we weren't able to find Duncan and lay him to rest as well. He died bravely.”

Alistair cringed. “I don't want to think about _why_ we couldn't find him.” The look of disgust on his face turned to sorrow and he broke, leaning in to huddle against her. She held him tightly. Her fingers in his hair as he sobbed quietly against her. His entire body shook with emotion drawing her own emotions to a head. Tears slipped from her eyes as she thought about all that had been lost already and all she stood to lose before the Blight was over. She allowed him to slip into sleep, his muscles relaxing as he went. She held him like a child as she kept watch for danger in the murky Wilds.

 

Alistair was quiet the next day, only saying enough to chide her for allowing him to sleep all night and keeping watch herself. They picked through the Wilds from Solona's memory, hunting down Flemeth's hut. The only help she had was the ruins that were decaying all over the woods and the few Chasind road markers that were difficult to find. When they finally made it out of the thick trees and the lake appeared before them, she spotted Flemeth's hut, the woman standing outside with her arms crossed as if she had been waiting for them.

“And so you return.” She smirked and her eyes studied Solona's new companions. “Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?”

Solona approached her warily.”I should dance to your tune, instead?” It was strange. She looked nothing more than an old crone, but if what Morrigan said was true, this feeble looking woman had lived centuries upon centuries and housed a demon within her.

“Why dance at all?” she asked with a shrug. “Why not sing?” She let out a spine tingling cackle that left Solona feeling frightened. She swallowed the fear and narrowed her eyes at the witch. “What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?”

“She knows how you extend your unnatural lifespan,” Solona said threateningly, the disgust clear in her voice.

“That she does. The question is, do you?” She sighed deeply and hung her head, her shoulders slumping. “Ahhh, but it is an old, old story. One that Flemeth has heard before... and even told. Let us skip right to the ending, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn?”

Solona clenched her fists. She had spent enough time with Morrigan to feel like Flemeth needed to die. Morrigan did not deserve the fate the woman had in store for her. “I need Morrigan. I have no choice in this,” she said, her own shrug lifting her shoulders in a show of nonchalance.

“Choice. There is power in choices, as there is in lies. I shall give you one of each... Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain,” Flemeth offered, drawing a surprising grunt of disapproval from Alistair that she agreed with.

“And what happens to you?” Solona asked, curious what he witch intended.

“I go,” she shrugged. “Perhaps I surprise Morrigan one day... or I may simply watch. It would be interesting to see what she does with her freedom. Enlightening, even. Would you give an old woman that?”

Solona snorted. “No. Forget it.”

Flemeth sighed. “Shame. What will it be then?”

“I take the grimoire...” Solona said.

Flemeth apparently believed Solona was grasping for her own power as she chuckled. “Oh, ho! How interesting. I'd like to see the look on her face when she realizes it... But you must earn what you take. I would have it no other way.”

Flemeth slowly walked to a large mound of flat ground to the side of her hut. Solona drew her staff, her eyes and body carefully following the witch's progress. When she reached the middle of the mound, she turned to face them and her skin erupted in a blinding glow. She was shapeshifting. Solona had watched Morrigan do it enough times to recognize the process. What she didn't expect was the massive dragon that emerged from the light, it's wings spreading and it's neck extending as it roared with rage.

In her shock, Solona froze, her brain screaming for her to do something, but her limbs not listening. She gaped at the creature as it reared back and it's mouth blazed with fire. The heat reached her before the fireball itself and she stepped back under the intensity, sweat immediately beading on her skin. That small step backwards likely saved her life as the fireball slammed into the ground exactly where she had been standing moments before. The impact splashed smaller chunks of flaming earth from the ground to bounce all around her, charring her skin and clothes. She dropped to her knees, the pain searing through her. Alistair did not fare much better as he held his shield against the skittering flames. She knelt for a few moments, trying her best to regain her footing, but the pain was unbearable. All of a sudden, a wash of magic slid over her skin, a presence touching her mind and telling her it was all going to be okay. The burns on her flesh disappeared, replaced with unblemished skin and her dwindling energy returned, giving her an amazing feeling of strength. Wynne stumbled slightly as Solona looked over at her, but the lapse was momentary as she began to hurl ice from her staff into the dragon before them.

Solona pulled a lyrium potion from her belt, knowing she would need it after the spell she had in mind. She dug deep in her chest, calling forth all of the mana at her disposal and her fingers twirled in a complex pattern as she twisted them around each other, stirring the air with her magic. She drew in the cold from the atmosphere and added it to the spell, dipping the temperatures of the conjured blizzard to well below freezing. She cupped her hands together before her, thumb to thumb and pushed the spell toward the dragon who was readying another fiery blast from it's lungs. The air around Flemeth swirled and blew, picking Solona's hair up as she cast, using her mana to sustain the tornado of cold. Flemeth reared back, her breath staunched for the moment as she writhed under the freezing spell. Her movements slowed, giving Leliana and Wynne both an opening to either cast more cold or in Leliana's case to enchant her arrows with a breathy song. Alistair stood patiently, his own burned skin as healthy as hers, waiting for the blizzard to subside. Solona took one hand from the blizzard spell and flicked a barrier up around him. “Go!” she grunted, tossing her head toward Flemeth.

He did not question his own safety, trusting her to keep him alive and her magic under control. Her mana was slowly dwindling, the barrier draining her more quickly than the blizzard. Controlling the elements was easy. Drawing Fade energy forth was more taxing. As Alistair hacked at the great beast, Solona dug in her heels and pushed the magic forward with renewed vigor, seeing Flemeth stumbling on her four clawed feet. Using the same hand that she had used to cast the barrier, she used her thumb to uncork the potion, partially replenishing her mana to keep the blizzard going. That was their last chance. She could not risk a second potion. If Flemeth was not defeated before her mana ran dry, she would be useless. As she ran low again, Wynne provided her with one last blast or energy with a rejuvenation spell. Solona once again lamented that she had never been adept at creation magic.

One of Leliana's arrows slipped into Flemeth's mouth as she opened it to draw in a fiery breath. The dragon angrily swiped at Alistair, who ducked away from the claws and grabbed hold of one of her horns as her head dipped low. He swung up onto her neck, abandoning his shield to get a better grip. She flailed her head, Alistair clinging desperately to her serpentine neck. Wynne grabbed hold of the dragon's head with a spirit arm, holding her as still as possible while Alistair drew his sword again, Leliana's latest arrow barely missing him as he climbed closer to her head. He lifted his sword above his head with both hands, holding on to her neck with his thighs. He stabbed down into her head and then had to grab hold as her head fell to the ground. As the massive dragon head slammed into the ground, he rolled off and to his feet as Solona slumped, her hands falling to her sides as her legs gave out beneath her. Leliana reached her before Alistair and helped her to stand. “Thanks,” she gasped. Then she chuckled wryly. “Well I guess we can add dragon slayer to our list of achievements.”

“That was incredible,” Alistair mused. “I've never seen anyone maintain a blizzard for that long.”

“I don't know how she's still standing,” Wynne said with a strained smile.

“You called on the spirit back there, didn't you?” Solona asked.

Wynne nodded. “I called forth the spirit that sustains me, so that it could lend us aid. I did not realize it would take this much out of me. It seemed a good idea at the time, if a little rash... I think it may have weakened the spirit a little.”

“So you could kill yourself doing this?” Solona asked carefully.

“Well... er, that's certainly conceivable. I suppose I shouldn't be using that particular trick to entertain children at parties,” she said with a chuckle.

“You know yourself best,” Solona said, certain that warning Wynne was a fruitless effort.

Wynne smiled warmly. “I promise I'll be careful. And thank you. Your concern is touching.” She patted Solona's cheek softly and Solona pushed away from Leliana, stumbling a bit, but maintaining her footing as Alistair touched his hand gently to the small of her back to steady her.

“Let's see if we can't find that grimoire,” she suggested, warily eyeing the corpse of the dragon, making certain that they had destroyed it. Morrigan had suggested that Flemeth was likely immortal and this defeat was only temporary. Exactly how temporary, Solona did not wish to find out.

They searched the cabin and found among the dusty contents a particularly well preserved book that when Solona opened it to read it, like Flemeth's other book, she was unable.

 

A few days after returning to the others, Morrigan had done little else besides hover over the tome with great interest. When she was not reading, she was watching Solona closely. Finally on the third evening, she approached Solona as she sat alone, plucking feathers from a chicken so they could boil it for dinner. Solona offered her a smile and Morrigan harrumphed. “ 'Tis a curious thing. I do not know how else to describe it.”

“Oh? Did you have your first feeling?” Solona teased as she studied the confused look on Morrigan's face.

Morrigan chuckled and picked up another chicken and began to pluck as well. “That would be rather unlikely, would it not?” She paused and they silently plucked their feathers for a time until Morrigan spoke again. “I am reminded of our first meeting in the Wilds. I had been in animal form for some time, watching your progress. I was intrigued to see such a formidable woman, obviously more potent than the men she traveled with. Yet I resented it when Flemeth assigned me to travel with you. I assumed that, at best, you would drive me from your company as soon as we left the Wilds.”

“Why would I do that?” Solona asked, glancing around at all of the interesting characters she had picked up along the way. Morrigan was one of the least strange or intrusive.

Morrigan hung her head and her voice caught in her throat. “I am aware that I have... little talent for forming friendships. To put it lightly. 'Tis something I know nothing of, nor ever thought I needed. Yet when I discovered Flemeth's plans, you did not abandon me. Whatever your reasons you fought what must have been a terrible battle without hope of real reward.”

Solona smiled and lowered her hands, pausing her chore to draw Morrigan's gaze to her. “I did it because I'm your friend.”

Morrigan cocked her head. “And that is what I do not understand. Of all the things I could have imagined would have resulted when Flemeth told me to go with you, the very last would have been that I would find in you a friend. Perhaps even a sister...” She choked on her words again and her eyes glistened. “I want you to know that while I may not always prove... worthy... of your friendship, I will always value it.” Another brief pause and Solona watched Morrigan physically gather herself and swallow whatever emotions were playing through her. “But enough of such idle talk. There are more useful things to be done, surely...” she went back to plucking her chicken and pretended that the conversation had never happened. Solona grinned and finished with her bird and stood, taking it to Alistair who grinned and plopped it in the pot with a few vegetables before thanking her with a kiss.

She returned to Morrigan to begin on another bird and Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Do you realize you've been smiling for hours, now?”

“Have I?” Solona asked, her eyes still on Alistair as he and Leliana joked while she helped him cut more vegetables.

“Since the last time you and that fool, Alistair, shot glances at each other, in fact,”she said nodding. “He must be pleasant enough in bed, for surely I cannot imagine anyone enduring his conversation.”

Solona had grown used to the constant bickering between the two and ignored the jab. “I happen to love him, you know.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Hm. More's the pity for you, then. 'Tis a bit sickening to watch you two, but I imagine it at least takes your mind from our... situation. Have it your way.”

Morrigan dropped the subject with a shrug and Solona initiated another, curious to see if Morrigan had any plans beyond seeing her mother dead. “So, Flemeth is dead, what now?”

“Now I have time enough to study Mother's grimoire to find a way to prevent her from stealing my body in the future. For she will be back. One day. I have no doubt of that. And if I cannot protect myself, one day I will track her down again in whatever body she inhabits... and she will die again. And again, if need be... But there is no need to think of such things now. I have you to thank for saving me, so let us... return to the task of dealing with the Darkspawn, no?”

“You know you can always rely on me, right?” Solona said as Morrigan nervously eyed her.

“You... too much could happen in days to come to... make such promises. Yet I am... grateful. Let us stop. There is much to be done before... there is still much to be done.” With that, she dropped the half plucked chicken and sauntered away, a sad look on her face.

 


	11. Werewolf Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona finds the elves in a bit of a predicament

The Dalish elves were an elusive bunch. It took Solona and her people a week to find them in the forest. They hid their movements well. As she slowly approached a small group of hunters, she held out her hands in placation as the woman on point approached her with a sour look on her face. They were all clearly Dalish from the tattoos on their faces and the distinct leather armor. “Stop right there, outsider. The Dalish have camped in this spot. I suggest you go elsewhere, and quickly.”

“Actually,” Solona said gently, her tone wary. “I've been looking for the Dalish.”

“I find that hard to believe,” the woman said, her hands finding her hips. “What business could we Dalish possibly have with a group like yours?”

“I am a Grey Warden. I wish to speak to your leader,” Solona said truthfully. If she wanted their trust, honesty was key.

“A Grey Warden?” the woman frowned. “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

Solona smirked. “Many people go about pretending to be Grey Wardens, do they?”

“No, that's true.” Her eyes scanned Solona and her party before she grimaced and waved her arm. “Perhaps I shall let the Keeper decide for himself. In the camp, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself and remember that our arrows are still trained on you. Follow me.”

After a short trek through a maze of woods, the woman led them into a clearing. Several of the Dalish land ships were parked in a tight circle and the clan had clearly been there longer than the Dalish tended to stay in any one place. A large pen had been set up at the bottom of a dip in the land near a tiny lake, and it was filled with the white, twisted horned beasts that the Dalish called Halla. They were like horses, their tasks to help pull the land ships when the Dalish traveled, but they more closely resembled deer in Solona's opinion.

The woman led them to a much more ornate 'aravel' as the Dalish called the land ships, where an elven mage stood, the power pouring from him, scenting the air with the scent of pure nature magic. His bald head tipped with both curiosity and mistrust as Solona approached. “Hmm. I see we have guests.” He briefly glanced at the the hunter and asked, “Who are these strangers, Mithra? I have precious little patience and less time to spend on outsiders today.”

The woman made a series of gestures that ended in a short bow. “This one claims to be a Grey Warden and wishes to speak with the clan. I thought it best to leave the decision to you.”

His large eyes returned to Solona as he spoke to the hunter. “That was wise of you. Ma Serannas, Mithra, you may return to your post.”

She dipped her head again. “Ma nuvenin, Keeper.” Then she disappeared to return to her group.

When she was out of sight he spoke to Solona. “Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the keeper of this clan, it's guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?” he tipped his head, his eyes never leaving hers. He was wary.

“My name is Solona. A pleasure to meet you,” she said, offering a short bow of her neck to show respect.

“Manners? From a Shemlen? Interesting. What might be your mission here? Have you come to spread news of the Blight?” He crossed his arms and sighed. “I had already sensed the corruption spreading in the South. The existence of the Blight is not news to me. I would have taken the clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see, we do not.”

“Yes,” Alistair agreed with a sigh as he glanced around them at the state of the camp. “It seems like you have had your own troubles. What are the odds?”

Solona silently agreed. Nothing had gone smoothly yet. Why should it start now? “I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago. Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made. This will require some... explanation. Please, follow me.” Zathrian beckoned Solona to follow and she held up a hand to be sure the others stayed behind. They moved further into the camp where a makeshift hospital was laid out between two of the aravels. The cots were lined with bloodied and suffering Dalish hunters. Their wounds were like nothing Solona had ever seen. Bites and claw marks like that of a massive dog, even larger than a Mabari. “The clan came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us. They... ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak. Even with all our magic and healing skill, we will eventually be forced to slay our brethren to prevent them from becoming beasts. The Blight's evil must be stopped, but we are in no position to uphold our obligations. I am truly sorry.”

“Is there no way to help your men?” Solona asked, kneeling beside one of the cots as the man writhed, his eye lids fluttering open and closed, revealing a pale, discolored iris.

“The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous. The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that... that would be no trivial task to retrieve,” he said with a sigh.

Solona stood and smiled warmly. “I am good an non trivial tasks.”

He studied her as if making up his mind whether he believed her or not and then finally he sighed, accepting her help. “Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf... We call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread. If he's killed, and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us.” He began to lead her back to her people and spoke at the same time. “I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan.”

“I'll find this Witherfang for you,” she assured him.

As they returned to her people, he said, “I must assure you that more than werewolves lurk in the Brecilian Forest. It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see. Where there is so much death, the veil separating the spirit realm from our own becomes thin, allowing spirits to possess things living or dead.” Solona did not appreciate him speaking to her as if she was not a mage, but listened anyway. “But if you can indeed help... then I wish you luck. I must return to caring for my people. Creators' speed on your way.” He tipped his head and left her to explain.

She turned and grinned at her expectant companions. Morrigan cocked her head in curiosity. “Did I just hear there are actual werewolves in the forest here?”

Solona nodded and proceeded to tell them what Zathrian had explained to her. “So you wish to help these Dalish?” Zevran asked. “But there are werewolves.”

“Better to leave them running rampant in the woods and attacking anyone who might wander by?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“The elf is correct, Kadan. We know nothing of these creatures. This is not our concern,” Sten added with a harrumph.

“I have never crushed a werewolf before. This should be interesting,” Shale added with a chuckle.

“We have to help,” Solona insisted, as Alistair frowned, his arms crossed. He wouldn't question her, but he didn't like it.

 

Almost as soon as they passed from the Dalish camp and into the thick of the woods, the thin veil pressed against Solona's skin like an unwanted lover. She shuddered, the sensation reminding her of a more sinister Circle Tower. There were likely demons hidden among the trees whose leaves rippled in the breeze. The path was difficult to navigate. In fact calling it a path was generous. It was a game trail that may at one time have been a path judging by the occasional bits of structure and slats of wood that led over rivulets of water too wide to hop over. The forest was quiet save for the whispering of branches and baying of wolves in the distance. The hair on her neck stood at attention as she navigated the thin trail, she was distracted by her footing and was on her back with a great weight on top of her before she even heard her attacker coming. “Sol!” Alistair's voice called out to her, but his cry was silenced by a grunt of his own as more werewolves descended upon her people. Solona held her arm up, protecting her face from the heat of the massive creature's breath. It smelled of decaying meat and dog breath, and she gagged as she fought to try and roll away from the creature. It had the head and shoulders of a wolf, but it's long arms and clawed fingers were clearly human, save for the layer of thick fur that grew over every inch. If it had been standing, it would have been several feet taller than her, and it's weight kept her pinned as she attempted to push it away, her elbow locked with her hand pressed to it's chest. The sounds of fighting barely reached her ears as the blood rushed through her veins, dumbing down everything except the creature on top of her. It thrashed over her, it's saliva warm as it dripped from its jaws. Sharp fangs glistened as the small rays of sun coming through the trees bounced off it's writhing head. She whimpered as the weight became too much and her arm buckled. It's head came down and those razor sharp teeth found the meat at her neck. She cried out and suddenly, she lashed out, calling her magic to burn it off her. She grabbed it's muzzle and the fire in her palms pushed it back, the wolf whimpering and pawing at the singed flesh and fur. She called more fire, burning the wolf alive, bringing forth the scent of burning fur to blot out the smell of it's breath that still lingered in her nostrils from the saliva all over her. She got to her feet, the bite on her neck laced with agony. With each pump of her heart, corruption unlike that of the Darkspawn coursed through her veins, setting her blood on fire. She hissed, touching the wound with her hand and coming away with her own blood, thinned by the moisture from the werewolf's mouth.

“Shit,” she cursed as the others fought off more of the wolves. She pulled a poultice from her bag and slapped it over the wound and pulled the collar of her armor back up to cover it. The curse. It was in her blood. She could feel it, mingling with her blood and her magic, each moment a fresh throbbing pain. Added incentive to find Witherfang.

When the fighting went quiet, she looked up, her eyes wild. Had anyone seen? Something shouted in her head, _Don't tell them_! As Alistair slapped aside the vines in his way to get to her, nearly tripping over a fallen branch in his path. “Solona,” he gripped her shoulders and moved to inspect the bloodied bit of her armor. “Maker...”

“I'm fine,” she insisted, moving away from his grasping hands. “It's not mine,” she lied. He pulled her into his arms and she fell into his hug, her skin feeling far too warm against his. “Let's go. Keep your guard up!” She called, pulling away from him before he noticed something was amiss.

They continued up the trail, stopping at a small island in the middle of two of the small rivulets that ran throughout the woods. A group of three werewolves stood tall and bipedal, their strangely inverted knees making their hunched shoulders look odd under the decidedly human stance. The one at the head growled at her and she reached for her staff, but before she could draw, _he_ spoke, as he was very obviously a male. “Hrr, the watch wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters. The Dalish send a human, of all things, to repay us for our attack, to put us in our place. What bitter irony.”

The gravely growling voice threw Solona for a loop. Werewolves were savage creatures, unable to string two syllables together, let alone full sentences. “You speak?” she stuttered, her eyes anywhere but where they were drawn to, as she flushed. “I thought werewolves were savage beasts.” At least that was how Zathrian and every lore book she had ever read spoke of them.

“We are beasts, but we are no longer simple and mindless. Let that thought chill your spine,” the lead wolf taunted. Solona narrowed her eyes and took a tentative step toward the wolf. “You speak to Swiftrunner,” he continued. “I lead my cursed brothers and sisters. Hrr. Turn back now, go back to the Dalish and tell them that you have failed. Hrr. Tell them we will gladly watch them suffer the same curse we have suffered for too long. We will watch them pay!”

As her blood blazed like fire in her veins, she felt a sympathy for the creatures before her. “I would prefer to talk to you. I mean you no harm.” She held up her empty palms in placation as she had when approaching the Dalish.

“Was it not Zathrian who sent you? Hrrr. He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!” the wolf growled angrily.

“Is there no way this can be resolved peacefully?” she asked mournfully.

“The time for peace is long past. There will be no peace between the elves and we who are cursed,” he insisted.

“Why do you hate the Dalish so much?” she wondered, realizing there may be more to this story than what Zathrian had told her.

“You know nothing, do you? Nothing of us and even less of those you serve. You are a fool, and we are done talking.” He growled, brandishing his claws and hunching over in a battle stance. “Run from the forest while you still can. Run to the Dalish and tell them they are doomed.”

Alistair's hand fell on her shoulder but she brushed it away, stepping forward. “I don't want to fight, but neither can I retreat.” She needed that cure now more than ever. Her own life was on the line.

“I do not want to fight you, either, but we cannot trust you,” the wolf growled, his threatening stance easing. He turned to the other wolves. “Come brothers and sisters, let us retreat. The forest has eyes of it's own, and it will deal with intruders as it always has.” They bounded off, galloping on all fours.

“Are you certain we should be involved with this feud?” Alistair asked skeptically.

She began walking again, continuing past the water and further into the forest, her limbs aching. “The Wardens need allies,” she grunted.

They stumbled upon a Dalish elf who was wounded and Solona had Sten and Barkspawn go back to the Dalish carrying the hunter. While they pushed forward through the thick forest, it began to become eerily quiet, even the rabid wolves that had ventured to attack them no longer hounded their progress. Out of the corner of her eye, Solona caught movement. “Did that tree just move?” Zevran asked, his brows knitting in a frown.

Solona shuddered. She had read about woods where the veil was thin. Malevolent spirits often used trees as hosts to burst forth from the Fade to torment anyone who dared venture too close. “Wynne, you've heard of the Sylvans, yes?” Solona asked cautiously, her eyes trying to see everything.

“I have,” Wynne said, her voice just as wary.

“Are you suggesting there are Sylvans surrounding us?” Morrigan asked, her staff in her hands.

“Maybe not every tree, but some of the larger ones look a bit suspect,” Solona shrugged as she caught more movement in her peripheral. She spun to face the trees, and found herself stopped in her tracks by a collection of roots that had sprung up from the ground at her feet. The sharp branches ripped at her clothing and scraped her flesh, growing tighter around her. She could not move to cast, so she shouted. “Find the Sylvan! Kill it.” She gasped as she tried to move and the roots tightened around her, cutting off her lungs' ability to fill with oxygen. She felt blood dripping from her fingertips as the bark opened wounds up and down her arms. She whimpered, feeling the pressure tightening her chest. “I can't... breathe,” she huffed, trying to turn her face to one of the small openings between the branches.

Someone began to hack at the branches around her, each blow vibrating the structure. “We'll get you outta there, Warden,” Oghren's gravelly voice called out as the smell of burning wood began to penetrate the darkness, the smoke flooding her already mostly empty lungs. She choked, her vision swimming. Suddenly, she was on her knees, gasping for breath, a bubble of clean air erected around her, courtesy of Wynne. The branches were gone and a huge oak laid burning on the ground at Morrigan's feet.

Alistair hovered by Wynne as she healed Solona's wounds, the bleeding on her neck closing up as well, without Wynne's knowledge. Then he dropped down and hugged her again, crushing her as effectively as the branches had. “Will you stop almost dying in this forest? I really can't take much more abuse,” he said, his arms releasing her so she could gasp in lungfuls of air.

“You and me both,” she grunted, her chest heavy as she breathed. When she reached for her staff, she groaned. “Oh, no.” The two pieces crumbled to the ground beside her, the wood having snapped in the force of the roots around her. “I guess I'm back to old fashioned casting for now.”

“We shall see if the elven craftsman can forge you a new one when we return to the camp,” Wynne suggested.

“Aye,” Solona nodded as Alistair helped her to her feet. She shook out her hands as her fingertips burned as if she had dipped them in boiling water. In fact her blood itself was boiling. She felt momentarily faint and played it off as best she could hugging against Alistair. “For now, let's watch out for more of those bastards. I don't wish to repeat that experience.”

They trudged through the dense forest, coming across more Sylvans which she and the other mages were quick to set ablaze. The trees groaned as they fell, sounding as if they were running a logging operation. When they finally happened upon a clearing after fighting off three of the living trees at once, there stood a majestic oak, larger than any she had seen yet in the woods. It was clearly a Sylvan, but it did not outright attack them as they passed, making Solona curious. She cautiously approached and the tree sprung to life, it's trunk separating into two thick legs, it's roots ripping up from the ground as it stepped to the side. It's branches unfurled to form arms and the face carved into the bark looked down at her with awe and as much curiosity as she held for it. “Hrrrrrmmmm...” it groaned noisily as it shook it's limbs. “What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?”

It's voice was old and gruff, yet it rhymed in a singsong tone. Solona cocked her head, “Can't you see me? I am a human.”

“Ahhhhhhh,” it groaned as if the wind were howling through it's branches. “Yes, I remember thy kind. So brief of life and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is sown within thy wake. Allow me a moment to welcome thee. I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree.”

Wynne stepped up beside Solona and gasped. “The world is... full of marvelous, unexpected creations. Each day we see something that we never thought possible.”

“Wow,” Leliana echoed.

“It rhymes,” Morrigan commented, her jaw on the ground. “ 'Tis a rhyming tree.”

The Oak nodded, it's leaves flutering. “And unless thou thinkst it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?”

“What is this boon?” Solona asked, crossing her arms and wondering if in her condition she had time to be running errands for a tree.

“I have but one desire, to solve a matter very dire. As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn.”

“An acorn?” Solona asked, wondering how many squirrels might be suspect in this debacle.

“All I have is my being, my seed. Without it, I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out, yet I shall die if left without.” In spite of her own dire straights, she could not help but feel sympathy for this ancient wonder as it swayed nervously before her.

“Very well, I will help you,” she offered, uncrossing her arms as the touch of her own palms against her skin felt too warm.

“Go to the east to find this man. I shall await, do what thou can,” the Oak rhymed, it's roots sliding back into place in the hole at it's feet and it's branches crossing over it's chest. It went still as the dead, likely not going to wake until they retrieved it's acorn.

“Let us hope it had something to offer us in return if you intend to keep that promise,” Morrigan scoffed as they headed east as the tree had asked. It was the direction they had been headed anyway.

“I would have expected you to have more sympathy for a talking tree,” Solona said with a grin.

“Why because I grew up in the wilds? Nonsense. If anything I learned to not trust anything that spoke in rhymes. 'Tis tacky,” she said with a snort of distaste.

As they passed from the denser part of the woods, they began to see less Sylvans and more werewolves. A branch off the path led to the deepest part of the woods, and they were stopped by a strange barrier of which Solona had never seen the like. “I guess the werewolves weren't kidding. This is powerful magic,” Solona commented as she ran her fingers over the foggy curtain.

“Do you think the tree might be able to get us past it?” Alistair mused, standing beside her.

“We need to find it's acorn first,” she sighed. “Let's go.”

They came across a werewolf crouched in the middle of the path and Alistair drew his sword. The wolf looked up and it's eyes bulged out of it's head. “P-please... help... listen...” it said. Solona thought the voice sounded feminine, but she couldn't be sure. She stepped up and lowered Alistair's hand and he glanced at her frowning. Could he feel the heat vibrating from her body? She flinched and stepped closer to the wolf. “I am not... the mindless beast I appear to be...”

“What happened to you?” Solona asked, hugging herself, afraid of the answer.

“They... I am cursed, turned into this creature. The curse, it... it burns in me!” the wolf howled, clearly in great pain as it panted and huffed, it's breath creating plumes of fog in the cold air around them. “I... fled into the forest. The werewolves, they... took me in. But I had to return. I had to!”

Alistair's hand fell on Solona's shoulder, pulling her away from the suffering wolf. “Careful. These werewolves might have laid a trap for us, or something. You never know,” he said gently.

The wolf looked between them and then it's head dipped again as it cringed. “You are... human. I am... I was once an elf, one of the Dalish folk. Do you know of my clan?”

Solona nodded. “Your keeper, Zathrian, is the one who sent me here, in fact.”

“The keeper sent you?” it asked with shock. “Then... you seek Witherfang.”

“I do. Have you seen him?” she asked, hoping for a clue that they were wandering in the right direction.

“I have, but... it is not what you think. But... there is no time to explain. You must listen... My name is Danyla. My husband... he is called Athras. Please, you must... bring him a message.” She begged with wide eyes.

The name was familiar. She had run into the man in the Dalish camp before they went into the woods. He had asked her to find out the truth about his wife. And here she was, a werewolf, as he had suspected. Zathrian had lied to him. “Oh, the poor woman!” Leliana cried. “She's in such pain!”

Solona flinched, realizing that in time, this would be her. Would she want Alistair to know if it came to that? Better him think her dead. She glanced at him and he tipped his head in question before she looked away, allowing her hair to fall in her face and shield him from her expression. “The scarf I wear,” Danyla pleaded. “bring it to him. Tell him I love him. Tell him... I am dead and with the gods. I beg you...”

“I spoke to Athras,” Solona revealed, her voice choked. “He worries about you.”

“I want him to be at peace... He is a good man. Please do not... let him suffer thinking of me,” she wailed. Then an animalistic cry escaped her throat. “Ahhhh! The pain! The curse... is fire in my blood! Please! End it for me! End it quickly!”

Solona swallowed the lump in her throat as her future played out before her. “Very well. I will end your pain,” Solona agreed and turned to Zevran. The elf cocked his head as she held her hand out. Then he realized her intention and slipped a dagger into her hand. She reached out and quickly slit the wolf's throat. She fell to the ground, mumbling thanks as her life seeped out the wound in her neck. The scarf that was tied around her arm was a simple enough thing to remove and Solona slipped it into her bag to give to Athras when they returned. _If_ she returned.

She turned and shoved the dagger hilt first back to Zevran and proceeded down the path. “Hey,” Alistair said, catching up to her. “Is everything all right?” he grabbed her arm to stop her storming through the trail, but she yanked away from him in fear that he might feel how hot she was.

“Fine!” she snapped. “We need to find the acorn thief so we can help the bloody tree so we can possibly breach the ancient forest magic to steal the heart of a wolf to cure a curse and I... just had to kill an innocent woman... So yeah. I'm fine. Let's go.”

She turned back to the trail, her fists clenched and continued her stomp through the woods. The rest of her people kept their distance, and Solona could feel the curse seeping through her skin. Her eyes felt hot when she blinked and her skin was flushed. As dazed as she was feeling, she was still looking out for any sign of whoever the oak had meant. She could feel magic in the air and she followed the source, hoping she wasn't chasing a false lead. It led her to a small clearing with a single tent and a hollowed out tree stump surrounding a campfire that had been recently used. An old man stood near the fire, swinging his fists and mumbling threats under his breath at apparently nothing. Had he been the mastermind behind the stolen acorn? She approached him warily, feeling the others on her heels. When he noticed her approaching, he stopped fighting the air and grimaced, rubbing his forehead. “Oh dear, oh dear! Not a werewolf and not a spirit, even, what are the woods coming to?”

She returned his grimace as his stench reached her nostrils which were apparently becoming more sensitive as the curse progressed. “Are you the thief who took the Grand Oak's acorn?”

He wrung his hands. “Mayhap I did and mayhap I didn't. Have you come to claim it back? Oh, what fun! But we are getting ahead of ourselves already. Ask a question and you get a question, but give an answer and you'll receive the same! Oh I do so love to trade.”

“You... want me to answer a question?” Solona asked her mind sluggish.

“Wouldn't I have to ask you a question first?” the man taunted.

“Isn't that a question?” she taunted back, angrily.

“Would you know a question if it was asked?” he grumbled.

“Are you mocking me?” she growled, the curse making it difficult to think of much else besides the burning in her veins.

“I don't know. Are you mocking me?” he asked innocently.

“This is ridiculous,” she said dropping her arms to her sides in frustration.

“No!” he shouted. “That is not a question! And if it be an answer, it be an answer to a question I've not asked! Have you no sense for the rules?”

A fog lifted as he spoke and Solona could have smacked herself in the forehead. Wynne stepped up beside her as it dawned on her what the man wanted. “Be careful, Grey Warden. This is no ordinary man. He is a mage... driven mad, perhaps, but still powerful.” She had deliberately not used Solona's name, whether it was because of her outburst with Alistair, or because of what the man was, Solona could not tell.

“No fair bringing mages to a guessing game! Will you play by the rules or not?” the man grunted.

“Then... would you like to ask a question?” Solona said careful to make her own phrase a question to speed up the process.

“I think it is your turn to ask, is it not?” he taunted.

“Do you have the Grand Oak's acorn?” she asked crossing her arms.

“Ahhhhhhh... suddenly it all becomes clear. You here, that talking tree there, it all makes sense now. As a matter of fact, yes, I do have that tree's acorn. I stole it and it was easy. Silly tree should have locked it up tighter!” he shouted. “If you want it, you'll have to trade me for it. And nothing from that silly tree... no leaves or branches or anything. But that's all I have to say about that. An answer for an answer, there you go!”

“Do you want to ask me another question?” Solona prodded, knowing that it was not her turn.

“May I? Oh yes, I think I might!” he said giddily. “Now... what shall be the first? Oh yes! What is your name?”

“My name is Winifred,” Solona lied, remembering Wynne's careful use of her title.

“Ah-ha! So you claim! They sent you, didn't they? But you're too tricky, and you're trying to fool me! Well, I'm on to you! Just so you know.” Solona's hands twitched at the verbal outburst, but he did not attempt to harm them, so she settled into her hip and arched a brow instead. “But it is your turn to ask now. Ask! Ask away! I dare you!”

“Do you have anything to trade?” she asked cautiously.

“Let's see... I'll trade you an acorn, a helmet I found, or a book I finished reading years ago...” he said, shuffling over to the stump and fishing through to pull out the items and show them to her. “Provided you have something interesting in return.”

Solona had plenty of trinkets in her backpack and she knelt to fish around. “I want to trade for the acorn...”

“Oho? And what do you have to trade for the acorn?” he asked, stretching his neck to see in her bag.

“How about a book?” she asked, pulling the ornate leather bound book she'd brought along from the tower. It had been one of her favorites as a child. It seemed meaningless now as she faced the curse.

“A book, eh? What sort of book?” he asked, eyeing the tome.

“How about this book on elven history?” she asked, carefully phrasing it into a question.

“Elven history, you say?” he dropped the other two items and held out the acorn humming in thought. “That might make for good reading by the moonlight. Or it'll be better than using leaves. Give me that!” she snatched the book and handed her the acorn. She closed her fist around her prize and stood, backing away from him, her bag in tow. “There! Now that's done. What else have you got on your agenda, hmm?”

“I should go,” she said quickly, eager to get back to the tree and see if it could help them get past the barrier. The quicker she got to where they needed to be the more hope she had.

“Oh, I see. You're going to report to _them_ now, are you? Fine. Good bye!” He turned and began to act as if they had never showed up, rambling and swinging his fists.

They made it back to the Grand Oak fairly easily and Solona approached it with the acorn still clutched in her fist. “My acorn is still gone, so I pray to thee... Hast thou any news for me?” It asked, again stepping from it's roots and watching her closely.

“Is this the acorn you seek?” she asked holding her hand out, the acorn in the center of her palm.

“My joy soars to new heights indeed!” it said gratefully, plucking the acorn from her hand with it's finger branches. “I am reunited with my seed!” It then reached up and took hold of one of it's barren branches and snapped it cleanly from it's shoulder. “As I promised, here it be. I hope it's magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout the forest free.” Solona took the offered branch and as soon as it touched her hands she could feel the magic humming in the wood. It resonated much like the barrier had. This would help, as well as serve as a fine replacement for her shattered staff. “I wish thee well, my mortal friend. Thou brought my sadness to an end. May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong.”

Solona clutched the staff to her chest as the Oak returned to dormancy. She turned a short smile on the others and Alistair frowned at her. She felt a discussion coming. Hopefully he would wait until they were finished. She didn't think her wits would hold up to his questioning stare.

 

They were back at the barrier. Solona gingerly touched her hand to the barrier and instead of stopping her, it passed through unimpeded. She stepped all of the way through, the magic rippling over her skin in a cool wave that stilled the curse momentarily. She stopped and stood in it to bask in the light breeze of the magic, working out the spell to bring it down and allow her friends to pass as well. Her mind briefly shouted, _you don't need them. Run to the wolves. They will take you in!_ She shuddered, shaking off the doubts in her head. Her friends needed her. Alistair needed her. If she succumbed to the curse, he deserved the truth from her, just as Athras deserved. Her heart clenched as she passed out of the magic and her skin resumed its burning. She scratched at an itch on her wrist that was spreading up her arm. She refused to look at it. If that was her body's way of informing her that she was growing fur, she didn't want to know. Instead, she took a deep breath and stilled her mind, lifting her palms to dispel the barrier with a counter spell. The spells resonated together, the mana coiling around itself and then her spell overpowering the ancient protective wards. They were powerful, but old. With help from her new staff, it was a walk in the woods, as it were. The barrier fell and her friends saw her standing there, her arms outstretched and her chest heaving in the effort. She dropped her arms, feeling faint and Alistair was there, angry or not, to catch her as she stumbled.

“Maker's breath, Sol, you're burning up...” he gasped, holding her aloft as her head sagged.

“M'okay,” she insisted, focusing on breathing. “Spell was... powerful.” She swallowed, her mouth sticky. “Water?” she asked.

He transferred her to his other arm and with one hand uncorked his water skin and tipped the cool liquid into her mouth. Her limbs ached, but she forced herself back to her feet. If she continued to show weakness, they would suspect. Let them think it was the spell. “I'm worried about you,” he whispered, tucking some of her hair out of her face.

She reached up, cupping his cheek and his face tipped into her touch, his eyes closing in relief that she wasn't rejecting him. “It's okay,” she insisted. “Everything is fine.”

When his eyes opened, they were laced with his concern and one brow rose skeptically. “I'm in love, Sol. I'm not stupid.”

She pursed her lips. “I'm fine,” she repeated, stepping out of his embrace. He sighed heavily, but did not question her further.

They didn't make it a quarter mile down the trail before they were greeted by a group of wolves, led by the one they'd spoken with before. “You are stronger than we could have anticipated. The Dalish chose well, But you do not belong here, outsider. Leave this place!” Swiftrunner growled threateningly.

“Why won't you let me try to settle this dispute?” Solona begged, scratching again at her arm. The itch was spreading.

“Hrrr. You are sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang! I will not stand by and allow that to happen!” He grunted.

“I have no intention of harming Witherfang,” Solona said pleadingly. If this could be settled without bloodshed, she wanted to know how. “I want to _talk_.”

“I do not believe you. I will not risk believing you,” he said with a rumbling sigh. “Hrrr. You are an intruder in our home! You come to kill, as all your kind do! We have learned this lesson well. Here Witherfang protects us. Here we learn our names and are beloved! We will defend Witherfang and this place with our lives!” He let out a loud baying howl that called the other wolves into action. They attacked with teeth and claws, trying to get past her and her party's defenses. Two wolves were cut down and Solona advanced on Swiftrunner, with her staff alight. He backed away from the flames as her rage fueled them. Suddenly she was knocked to the side. Dropping her staff, she fell and a heavy weight landed on top of her biting and snarling. The wolf sniffed at her and then jumped backwards, removing itself from her. It barked menacingly tipping it's head with slight curiosity as it assumed another pounce position should she attack again. It's fur was white and it looked as any normal wolf accept for the gnarled roots that grew along it's hind quarters.

“Witherfang?” Solona whispered, as the wolf snarled. It's eyes studied her and the rest of the werewolves retreated under his protection. Then he howled a warning and bounded off after the weres.

“Are you all right?” Alistair asked, handing her staff back to her. “You weren't bitten.”

Solona snorted ironically. “No. Come on. That was Witherfang. We need to follow.”

They started down the trail and when they rounded a corner, they came upon a dilapidated ruin right in the middle of the forest. The architecture was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was not human or dwarven and Solona paused to wonder if they were seeing something constructed by ancient elves. It was absolutely a marvel in spite of it crawling with werewolves. One standing in the entry way shouted. “We are invaded! Intruders have deceived their way into the forest's heart! Fall back to the ruins! Protect the Lady!” The wolves vanished and Solona sighed.

The entry hall of the ruin was huge. She spotted wolves darting down a hall to the right at the base of a ramp created by extremely thick, over grown roots that had broken out the stairs that had previously filled the space leaving piles of rubble to both sides. When they reached the door beyond where the wolves had vanished, it had been barred from the other side. “Dammit!” she cursed, kicking the shaky wooden door. “We'll have to find another way in.”

They headed back up the stairs to the entry hall and proceeded deeper into the ruin. The veil was practically nonexistant and walking skeletons and lost spirits hindered their progress through the maze of ruins. Solona would have been fascinated by where they found themselves if she could not feel the curse spreading through her. She was outwardly sweating now, her body attempting to regulate the extreme internal temperatures. The itch had spread to her shoulders and neck, but she ignored it as best she could, concentrating on fighting their way down. Deep underground, they came upon an Arcane Horror that had likely been ruling the ruins for ages judging by the power behind the corpses it was throwing at them. With so many in her party, it was an easy kill. In a room off the main chamber where the Horror had resided, they found a deep pool of water. Solona began stripping her gear, save for her armor and staff and Leliana hummed her disapproval. “This seems quite the risk,” she protested.

“We don't know where it leads,” Oghren agreed.

“Allow me to scout it out. I do not breathe, after all,” Shale offered.

Solona nodded and swung her arm around in invitation. “Will you be able to get back up after you sink?”

“I will figure something out. Perhaps shimmying up the walls,” Shale mused as she dropped her massive body into the water, making a giant splash and immediately sinking quickly below the surface. They waited for nearly ten minutes before Shale painstakingly made her way back to them. “The water lets out on the other side near the lair. It smells of wet dog over there. Most unpleasant. You fleshy creatures should be able to compress your lungs long enough to make it there.”

“You mean hold our breath, Shale?” Solona asked with a grin.

“Yes, yes. Just follow my glow. I shall await you at the bottom to guide you to the other side.” She dropped again and Solona immediately jumped in after her, the others a bit less enthusiastic, followed suit. She saw the glowing of Shale's crystals and swam for her. The weight of her armor was dragging her down, but it was not too much. She worried about the others until Shale led her to the other side and she noted the incline that led upwards to the surface. They could easily climb out even in full armor as Oghren was. Her lungs protested as she neared the end, and she breached the surface gasping for breath. She climbed out of the water, dropping to her back to regain her breath and fight off a surge of dizziness and nausea as her weakened body protested. The water had felt good on her skin though and she longed to dive back in for relief. The others surfaced after her, all of them collapsing as she had to catch their breath. Shale shuffled back into the water. “I will return and collects it's belongings. Would it like for me to bring them here, or return to the camp?”

“Take them back to the camp. I don't want anything ruined by the water,” she sighed, wishing that there was an alternative to losing Shale.

“As it wishes.” She dipped back into the pool and disappeared leaving a faint glowing trail. Solona dragged herself to her feet, and rung out the tails on her armor so they wouldn't wrap around her legs and trip her. Wynne sighed, her long robes already clinging to her calves as she attempted to walk.

They moved carefully, the smell and atmosphere of the lair making Solona feel uneasy. Every shadow felt as if it were hiding something. Just as they passed through the first doorway away from the water, one of the shadows shifted and a werewolf appeared out of thin air. It dove on the nearest person and Leliana fell under the impact. It lashed out, tearing into her flesh before Solona could react. It's claws ripped through the leather of her armor like it was made of silk. Solona summoned her mana and shot a bolt of pure energy at the wolf, knocking it away from Leliana. Then she hurled a fireball to set the wolf ablaze as Wynne immediately knelt beside Leliana as she bled from several angry slashes across her chest and stomach. More wolves appeared and Solona reacted, fighting them off with help from the others not already engaged. Solona could feel Wynne's healing magic hovering in the air as she cast. She whispered a prayer for Leliana. The wounds had looked severe. When the last wolf was down, she dashed to Wynne's side and saw Leliana clutching her ribs, but sitting up on her own. “Are you all right?” she asked in horror.

“She will be fine. We just need a moment,” Wynne assured Solona with a smile.

“Thank the Maker,” Solona sighed, her entire weary body drooping with relief. This mission was turning out to be worse than the Deep Roads. She would take Darkspawn over Werewolves any day.

After a brief rest, they got to their feet and resumed their trek through the ruins to the heart of the werewolf lair. In a small room that opened into several smaller hallways, they were greeted by a new set of werewolves. Several of them looked ready to fight, but the one in the middle shouted angrily. “Stop! Brothers and Sisters, be at ease! We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask you this now, outsider... are you willing to parley?” His eyes bored into Solona and she crossed her arms.

“We are talking right now, aren't we? So talk...” she shrugged, glad at least someone was willing to listen.

“Not with me. I have been sent to you on behalf of the Lady. She believes that you may not be aware of everything you should be.” he snorted briefly and then said, “She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley in peace is an honest one.”

Solona's eyes narrowed. “If you were willing to talk, why didn't you earlier?”

“Swiftrunner did not think it would matter. The Lady disagrees, and since you have forced your way this far, we must acquiesce to her wishes,” he explained.

“Then take me to this 'Lady',” Solona said warily.

He growled a warning. “Follow me. But I warn you, if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay.”

He turned and led them through a door behind him that opened to a short staircase. It led to what had once been a main hall of sorts but was now overgrown with trees and roots and other such plants. They walked through the rows of snarling werewolves, Solona calmly ignoring the bluster. Her blood was singing as she approached the dais where the wolf Swiftrunner stood beside a mostly nude woman. Her skin was the color of olives and her legs and arms were twined with twisting branches and roots. Her long black hair fell to serve her modesty on her breasts, but just barely. Solona heard Oghren grunt and Zevran paused closer to her than he usually stood to observe the specimen before them. She smiled briefly, her soft voice reminding Solona of a breeze slipping through trees. “I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest.”

Solona glanced around at the snarling wolves and the run down abode in which they dwelled. The pain she had endured to get here made her tongue sharp. “Really? You seem more like the Lady of the Ruin to me.”

Swiftrunner bore down on her, his breath in her face, though she could no longer feel the warmth of it. “You will not speak to the Lady in this manner!” he shouted.

“Hush, Swiftrunner. Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?” The Lady asked gently.

Solona studied the creature as Swiftrunner backed away, his head dipped low. “No, my Lady. Anything but that.” The roots around her torso were familiar. They were like Witherfang's. Was the Lady just Witherfang in her true form?

“Then the time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside.” the Lady soothed, petting her branch fingers down Swiftrunner's shoulder. Then her completely black eyes fell on Solona and Solona fidgeted. “I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles with his nature.”

“As do we all, Lady,” Solona found herself whispering in agreement as her hands trembled under the scrutiny of the spirit.

Her eyes narrowed and Solona felt a probing presence, slithering over her skin as the Lady studied her. “Truer words were never spoken. But few could claim the same as these creatures... that their very nature is a curse forced upon them...” She knew. Solona could tell she knew, but she remained silent for the moment. “No doubt you have questions, _mortal_. There are things Zathrian has not told you.”

“How do you know what he has or has not told me?” Solona asked curiously.

“Because there are things that he would not tell. Things that you should decide for yourself whether you need to know... It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer... That _you_ now suffer.” The Lady stated boldly.

Solona cringed as Alistair's outraged voice rose at her side. “What!?”

She turned her head to glance at him and not only was he angry, but he was terrified and hurt. She flinched again. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“How long?” he demanded, bearing down on her.

“The first fight...” she admitted shakily, scratching at her neck.

His anger slowly faded as the sadness took it's place. He pulled her against him and his body shuddered with emotion. “I knew...” he whispered. “I knew something was wrong. We should have never come out here.”

“We need the help,” she insisted. “For the Blight. The Wardens need allies.”

“At what cost?” he asked, pulling away to pull back the neck of her armor and peel away the now useless poultice covering the healthy skin that Wynne had unwittingly healed. His thumb grazed over her inflamed skin and his cool touch was a relief.

The Lady allowed them a moment and then drew their attention again. “Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting, the human tribe captured then both.”

“Hrrrr...” Swiftrunner growled. “The humans... tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was... with child. She... killed herself.”

“So Zathrian cursed them, I take it?” Solona asked, Alistair's arms still around her. She leaned gratefully into him, her limbs shaky.

“Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be,” Swiftrunner explained. “Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe, Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures...”

“Twisted and savage, just as Witherfang himself is,” The Lady agreed. “They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals.”

“Until I found you, my lady. You gave me peace,” Swiftrunner said, kneeling down by her side. Her hand fell on him again.

“I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me.”

Solona frowned. “Why did you ambush the Dalish? For revenge?”

“In part,” she sighed. “We seek to end the curse. The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago, by those who are long dead.” As Zathrian should be, Solona pondered. “Word was sent to Zathrian every time the landships passed this way, asking him to come, but he has always ignored us. We will no longer be denied.”

“Hrrr... We spread the curse to his people! So he must end the curse to save them!” Swiftrunner growled.

“Please, mortal... You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, hears their plight... surely he will agree to end the curse! If not for them, then do it for yourself.” The Lady begged.

“Why would Zathrian agree to come here alone?” Solona sighed.

“If Zathrian comes, I shall summon Witherfang. I possess that power. I also have the power to ensure Witherfang is never found,” she sneered. “Tell Zathrian this. If he does not come, if he does not break the curse, he will never find Witherfang, and he will never cure his people.”

“Very well, I will go to Zathrian, and tell him this...” Solona agreed, withering against Alistair.

“Are you certain you have the strength?” he asked her softly.

“Zathrian is not as far as you think,” she said, certain that the elf had not left her success to chance. He had likely followed.

“Outside of this chamber, the passage leading back to the surface has been opened for you. Return with Zathrian as soon as you can.” The Lady pointed to an exit to the left of the dais.

Solona nodded and gently pushed away from Alistair, refusing to be dragged from the chamber. She would walk on her own two feet if it killed her. Several sets of stairs led back up to the entrance that had been barred previously. Solona pushed her legs to work as her muscles ached and her bones felt like they had turned to jelly. Every stumble, Alistair was there, a silent crutch. In the entry hall, they found Zathrian as she had predicted, with Shale who was watching him with an expression that made Solona believe she was a few minutes away from squishing his head as he studied some of the reanimated corpses that had fallen under their blades hours ago. “Ah,” he stood and regarded Solona who drew herself to full height and swallowed some nausea. “And here you are already.”

“Somehow, I figured I'd find you here,” Solona said, crossing her arms and settling into her hip.

“Did you? Aren't you the intuitive one,” Zathrian said with a sneer. “There was no way to tell what would happen once you reached this ruin, so I decided to come myself.”

“It showed up just as I did, Warden,” Shale said, her rocks grinding together as she shifted.

Solona glared at Zathrian, knowing he was the cause of all of this suffering made her furious. “You mean you wanted to make sure I got the heart.”

“Just so. Did you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“No. I didn't,” she said calmly.

“You didn't? May I ask then, why are you leaving the ruins?”

“I've been sent to bring you back to the Lady of the Forest,” she explained, her hands trembling under her arms. Her own heart was racing and she felt light headed again, but she blinked slowly to regain her composure as he grunted.

“Oh? Is that what the spirit calls herself, now? And what does she want with me? If I might inquire?” His tone was mocking and it grated on Solona's nerves.

“What is it you think she wants?” Solona spat, knowing the Lady had told her of the attempts to communicate with him.

“To survive, I suspect. That is the common nature amongst all such creatures, the will to survive. You do understand that she actually _is_ Witherfang?” He said snidely.

Solona sighed and nodded slowly. “Yes, I thought as much.”

“She is the powerful spirit of this ancient forest that I summoned long ago and bound in the body of the wolf. Her nature is that of the forest itself. Beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both, two sides of a single being,” he said dramatically. “The curse came first from her. Those she afflicted with it mirrored her own nature, becoming savage beast as well as human.”

“But the werewolves have regained their minds,” she informed him.

“I find that difficult to believe,” he grunted, looking away from her in disbelief and disgust. “They attacked my clan and they were the same savages then that they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out and not defended!” He paced away and then sneered at her over his shoulder. “Come, I will accompany you back to the ruins. Let us go and speak to the spirit and I will force her into Witherfang's form. He may then be slain and the heart taken.”

“I assure you,” she insisted. “The werewolves have regained their minds.”

He sighed. “Even so, they are still the same worthless creatures that their ancestors were. They deserve nothing more than the misery they possess. This is not your battle, Grey Warden. Let us just take the heart and be done with it.”

It was more her fight than he understood. “Won't you at least consider talking to them?”

“Why? You claim they have regained their minds, but they are still savage beasts. Their nature is unchanged,” he said again. “All they want is revenge... or a release that I will not give them. No, let us take the heart and end it.”

At his refusal to release them from the curse, her stomach clenched and she fought the urge to double over as he body fought against the curse. If this did not work out, it was her last chance. “Do you still have so much hatred after all this time?” she said sadly.

“You were not there. You did not see what... what they did to my son. To my daughter. And so many others,” Zathrian snapped. “You are not Dalish. How can you know how we had to struggle to be safe? How could I have let their crimes go unanswered?”

Solona pointed angrily. “But it's your own people suffering now, as well as them!”

“I have sworn to protect my people, and I shall. I will not lift a finger to help the descendants of savages who deserved the curse they received!” he argued back.

“You can at least meet with them... that is what I propose,” she said, the strength to argue dwindling from her.

“And what if it is revenge that they want, and not talk? Will you safeguard me from harm?” he asked, his teeth gritted.

“I don't think it will come to that,” she insisted.

“I fail to see the purpose behind this... but very well. It has been many centuries, now. Let us see what the spirit has to say,” he agreed, rubbing his temples in weariness.

He led the way down the stairs, Solona grateful to be behind where he could not see her struggle. The Lady and the wolves were waiting somewhat impatiently as Zathrian approached the dais and narrowed his eyes at the Lady. “So here you are, spirit.”

Swiftrunner growled. “Hrrr! She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!”

“You've taken a name, spirit? And you've given names to your pets? These... beasts who follow you?” His eyes roved over the assembled wolves, and his lip curled.

“It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are,” the Lady explained.

“Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were,” Zathrian spat. “Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

Solona bit her lip and clutched Alistair's arm as her legs tried to give out from under her. He pulled her against him, holding her aloft. “He will not help us, Lady!” Swiftrunner growled. “It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!”

“No, I am here to talk, though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine,” Zathrian sighed.

Solona whimpered and fortunately it was drowned out by the Lady's words. “It does not have to be that way. There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent.”

“My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more,” Zathrian insisted.

The Lady looked to Solona who steadied herself “Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortal how it was created?”

Solona cleared her throat and Zathrian frowned as he looked at her, hovering near Alistair. “He said he summoned you and bound you to a wolf,” she added.

“And so he did. Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood.” Her gaze fell on him. “Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true,” she accused. “So long as the curse exists, so do you.”

Solona gasped. “No, that is not how it is!” Zathrian cried waving his hands in a negative gesture before him.

“Just how far will you go for your revenge, Zathrian?” Solona accused, the rage in her giving her new strength.

“I did it for my people! I did it for my son, and my daughter! For them, for justice, I would do anything!” He growled.

The spirit spoke again, still calmly. “The curse would not end with Zathrian's death. His life, however, relies on its existence. And I believe his death plays a part in it's ending.”

“Then we kill him! We tear him apart now!” Swiftrunner shouted.

“For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still,” Zathrian accused with a wagging finger. “What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!”

“You see? We must kill them all!” Swiftrunner growled, extending his claws.

“See? They turn on you as quickly. Do what you have come here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way!” Zathrian called to her.

“You'll end that curse if I have to force you myself!” Solona grunted taking a step toward him and collapsing onto her knees.

Zathrian drew his staff. “Ah, now I see.”

“We're standing for what's right here,” Alistair said, helping her back to her feet. “No matter what.”

“Then you die with them! All of you will suffer as you deserve!” Zathrian said moving from the dais to take a spot a the far end of the hall where Solona and the others had first entered from.

“Get off the dais!” She shouted to her people.

Zathrian laid a circle of paralyzing glyphs around the dais, trapping the Lady, who had shifted to her wolf form, most of the other wolves, and a few of her companions. She staggered out of the reach of his spells and painstakingly pulled her own staff. She may be weakening and in pain, but she could still fight. He summoned spirits, raising Sylvans, and two more of her people were trapped in the binding roots. Morrigan was already setting fire to the one nearest her, so Solona drew on her mana and set the other ablaze. Shale punched and grabbed at the burning trees and Alistair charged at Zathrian, his blade glowing with his templar abilities which he was using to counter everything Zathrian threw at him. As the Sylvans perished, Oghren and Zevran were freed from the roots and they turned on Zathrian as well. Solona was about to call on more of her magic, but Zathrian fell to his knees in defeat under the might of her companions. The glyphs on the dais shattered and the wolves were freed with Wynne and Leliana. Zathrian sighed, dropping his staff. “No, no more. I... I cannot... cannot defeat you.”

Solona fell to her knees, crying out as pain seared through her gut. Alistair was at her side, pulling her into his lap. “Finish it! Kill him now!” Swiftrunner shouted.

“No!” Leliana shouted. “Don't kill him! Please, Lady, stop him!”

The Lady stepped in front of Swiftrunner, her hand in his chest. Solona shuddered in Alistair's arms, her body curling up as her muscles seized. She whimpered and he held her tightly as the Lady said calmly. “No Swiftrunner. We will not kill him. If there is no room in our hearts for mercy, how may we expect there to be room in his.”

Solona was blind as her eyes pinched closed around the pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. “I cannot do as you ask, spirit.” Zathrian said. “I am too old... to know mercy. All I see are the faces of my children, my people. I... I cannot do it.”

“Hasn't this gone on, long enough, Zathrian?” Solona begged between deep heaves of her chest, her breathing labored.

“Perhaps I have... lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root... It has consumed my soul. What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse, just as I am. Do you not fear your end?” he asked.

“You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life...” Solona could feel her bones reforming beneath her skin. If they didn't hurry, Alistair would be cradling a wolf, not the woman he loved. She panted and cried out, gripping his armor with everything she had, her nails breaking under the pressure. Yet the Lady continued, unphased. “Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker... put an end to me. _We_ beg you... show mercy.”

“You shame me, spirit. I am... an old man, alive long past his time,” Zathrian said quietly.

“Then you will do it?” The Lady asked with hope. “You will end the curse?”

“Yes. I think it is time. Let us... Let us put an end to it all,” Zathrian agreed.

“It's almost over, my dear,” Alistair soothed her gently, his voice choked in both fear and relief. She could scarcely feel his fingers caressing through her hair or the gentle rocking as he held her. All that was left was the pain. She felt magic surge through the room and a bright light flashed all around the cavern. She heard a body hit the floor and then several gasps as the light faded. Her muscles relaxed and Alistair's arms crushed her to his chest. “Thank the Maker,” he whispered quietly as he held and continued to rock her, his face pressed to her head as he kissed her hair.

She laughed gently, burying her face in his neck, realizing he wasn't going to let her go for the foreseeable future. “What's happening?” she asked, unable to see as he held her head in place.

“A lot of nudity,” he explained, a nervous chuckle in his voice.

“I know you're relieved, but we should probably speak with Swiftrunner,” she suggested.

“Right,” Alistair agreed, loosening his titanic grip on her and slowly helping her stand on wobbly legs. “Can you walk?”

She gazed up at him, smiling in spite of everything and nodded. “I think so. Can I lean on you?”

Her muscles still ached, but the fire in her blood had cooled, leaving her feeling as normal as possible considering she had been minutes from joining the canine family. “Of course,” he said as she huddled against him and they moved together to the dais where several naked former wolves stood, rejoicing with each other. A tall man with a scruffy brown beard was noticeably distinct from the rest. She knew Swiftrunner's eyes. He still had his wolf eyes. They all did in fact, but the way he watched her approach made her certain he was Swiftrunner. “It's... over. She's gone, and... we're human,” he said testing out his new vocal chords, his words halting and unsure. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Solona asked with genuine curiosity. They had been born werewolves. Most of them knew nothing else.

“We'll leave the forest, I suppose,” he shrugged, his voice becoming more sure as he spoke. “Find other humans, see what's out there for us. It should be quite interesting, don't you think?” She joined him in a short chuckle before he bowed his head. “Thank you. We... we'll never forget you.”

The wolves all turned and left, and Wynne approached Solona and Alistair. “Do you think they will figure out to clothe themselves before finding other humans?” she asked in amusement.

“I certainly hope not,” Zevran said with a chuckle.

“Let's get out of this place,” Solona said with a sigh.

 

They made their way back to the Dalish camp, Solona slowly regaining her strength after a small healing spell from Wynne to encourage her muscles to rebuild themselves. With an offer of hospitality and a promise of help for the Blight from the new Keeper, Solona and her people set their tents up a safe distance away from the Dalish without being rude or intrusive. Solona personally spoke with Athras about his wife and gave him the scarf. Afterwards, she made her way back to their circle of tents and climbed into hers to sit with her knees pulled up to her chin. Socializing was not on her agenda for the evening. Neither was dinner. The thought of food turned her stomach. Her hands were shaking and she hugged her shins tightly, burying her face in the small gap between her knees and chest.

That was how Alistair found her when he poked his head in to see if she was hungry. He disappeared briefly to get rid of whatever he had in his hands and came in to join her. At first, she fought his comforting hug, but he pulled her to him, still wrapped in her tight little ball. “I'm so sorry,” she whimpered, as he kissed her head, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“There's nothing to be sorry about,” he suggested, removing one arm to lift her chin so she was looking at him. He kissed her tears away, and then hugged her head to his chest. The sound of his heart through his tunic offered a small comfort as he spoke. “I've never been so scared in my life. I can't imagine how it must have been for you,” he whispered. “Why didn't you say something?”

“There was nothing to be done,” she admitted. “I would have rather had you focused on the task at hand than worrying about me.”

“You worry about me all of the time,” he protested. “You can let me worry a little.”

“It's my job to worry. I'm the leader, remember?” she said with a small grin.

“That's going to be my new campaign slogan when I get to Denerim,” he said with a snort.

She giggled and changed her voice to a deep mocking tone. “All tremble before the mighty King Alistair. It's his job to worry. He's the leader.”

He sighed, kissing her head again. “It's good to hear you laugh again. You were so grumpy earlier. I thought I'd done something wrong.”

“Only you would think that me being grumpy meant you'd done something wrong,” she snorted, relaxing into his arms and placing one hand flat on his chest by her cheek.

“Well, it's official. I think I now know how you felt when I took that axe to the gut in Haven,” he admitted, his heart rate fluttering beneath her.

She shuddered, remembering her own hands slick with his blood. She hadn't even known how he felt then. She had thought she was alone in her affections. She pressed weight against his chest, forcing him to lie back and she joined him, stretching her body to lie against his. “I don't like thinking about that,” she admitted in return, his arm and chest cradling her head.

He moved to his side to face her, both of them using their hands pressed together as flat pillows. “These are my favorite moments,” he said with a grin. “Where we finish a particularly hard day and then just spend the evening together, talking about nothing, only each other as company.” he reached over to push hair from her face and she scooted closer as his hand trailed down her neck and over her shoulder then all of the way past her elbow before resting on her hip. He gently nudged her closer again, pressure on her hip pulling her into him. His hand slid up, flat against her back to rest on her shoulder blade before he leaned in to steal a soft kiss from her lips. “I nearly lost you today. I never want to feel that helpless again.”

She leaned in this time, drawing him in with her lips and pressing their upper bodies together. “When I snapped at you today... I had just seen our future in Danyla. She was in so much pain, but all she wanted was to know that Athras was not going to suffer. I... I shut down. I know how badly it hurt you to lose Duncan and Cailan. I didn't want to add more pain on your shoulders.”

He shushed her with a gentle finger on her lips, his icy blue eyes piercing through her. “Please don't ever think that shutting me out will spare my feelings. I'm committed to you now. To us... I want to know whenever there is anything I could do. Even if it's just to listen... or hold your hand,” he said, pressing their palms together in the air between them. “I've loved you for much longer than I should probably admit, and you've helped me through so much. I want to return the favor whenever I can.”

“I promise... no more shutting you out, even to spare your feelings. You're a big boy and I should treat you like one,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, I feel so manly now,” he chuckled, kissing her around the smile. Those were her favorite kind of kisses from Alistair, when he was grinning so wide he couldn't even pucker his lips.

“Who's my big strong Warden?” she taunted with a giggle.

“Oh, I hope it's me,” he laughed, kissing her again.

“Do you see any other Wardens around here?” she mocked.

“Well, you could have been talking about yourself,” he shrugged. This time, she leaned in, pressing her lips urgently against his. “So I'm guessing the conversation bit of the evening is finished.” He grinned.

“I have much better uses for my mouth right now,” she teased.

 


	12. Facing Loghain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning to Redcliffe, Solona and the others accompany the Arl back to Denerim to rally the people to their cause.

With all of the Warden treaties fulfilled, their army was as large as they could muster from their end. It was time to return to Arl Eamon and see how he had fared in gathering support from the nobility in the Bannorn. She noticed Oghren watching her all day as they traveled the King's Road and when they stopped for lunch, she approached him. “There you are. Wanted to talk to you,” he said, his words slurring.

“What about?” she asked, remembering back to some of his more interesting drunken subjects.

He grinned widely. “You and I, we've... You know how sometimes, you spend time with... people, and things... Hm...” He trailed off, seemingly distracted.

“I love you too, Oghren,” she patted his head with a teasing grin and he snapped to attention.

“Ha! Well, I'll be shaved, skinned, and hung up to dry! It's too soon, though, lady. Too soon... I just wanted to ask a favor... I was thinking, I do know some people out here on the surface. _A_ person, actually. Girl I knew in Orzammar. Before I left, obviously.”

Her brow rose and she crossed her arms. “A girl you knew, or a girl you _knew_?” she asked with a smirk.

“What? You mean were we rutting? Oh, aye... After Branka left for the Deep Roads. Name's Felsi, and she was a fiery one. I'm sure she's forgiven me by now. Thought maybe I'd track her down. See how she's been living,” he said with a fond grin and a shrug.

“Do you know how to find her?” Solona asked.

“I tried to look her up the last time we were at Lake Calenhad. She wasn't at work at the inn. At home with her sick mother, they said. I figured it was just the ancestors telling me something... but I keep thinking about her,” he admitted.

“We can go back,” she shrugged. They would be at Redcliffe anyway. It wasn't far.

“Well and a good friend you are, Warden. I'll think about you if we ever... No, actually, that would be gross.” He shuddered and wandered away from the conversation.

The rest if the trip went smoothly, if a bit fraught with Darkspawn. The Blight was spreading more quickly, but they were running into more of their allies out working to clear the roads for refugees. Arl Eamon greeted them eagerly when they arrived at the castle. “I understand you've acquired all the allies you could? That's good... We can call the Landsmeet, if you are ready. I would prefer not giving Loghain time to consider, but it is up to you. I do not wish to go to Denerim unless you are with me.”

“Then we should go now,” Solona agreed, eager to have it done, so she could focus on the Blight.

“Excellent. I shall make the arrangements. Let us be off to Denerim and may the Maker watch over us.”

Making the arrangements took Eamon a week and while they waited, Solona took Oghren to Felsi where the two exchanged barbs and Solona was convinced the meeting was an utter failure until on the boat back to Redcliffe, Oghren belched and grinned. “Yep, I still got it.” She took his word for it.

Back at the castle, they were treated to a feast honoring them for saving the city, and while they ate, Alistair sat at his place beside Teagan and tormented her with his gaze. Neither of them could stop staring. They had been given rooms in the guest wing, and Solona was eager to find out exactly how comfortably the nobility slept in Redcliffe.

After her fifth cup of wine and she had lost count of the courses, Solona excused herself, feigning exhaustion. She slipped out of the dining hall and was halfway down the hall to the stairs when arms slipped round her waist from behind. “Where do you think you're going?” he teased in her ear, his breath easing over her neck before he gently kissed down from her lobe to her collar.

Her nipples hardened under his attention and she stopped walking, leaning her back into his chest. “I was hoping you'd join me,” she gasped as his hand slipped up under her borrowed tunic, tugging at her deepest desires, a wave of arousal turning her around in his arms. “Take me upstairs before we make a scene,” she whispered, catching a glimpse of some servants who were desperately trying to focus their attention on their tasks.

“How can I say no to such an invitation?” he grinned, backing her towards the stairwell. When they disappeared from the hallway, he pressed her to the wall, his mouth urgently finding hers, his hands placed on the wall on both sides of her, pinning her to the spot. Then he moved away, grasping her hand and pulling her with him up to the guest quarters.

“Which room is yours?” she asked, all of the doors looking the same to her. He pushed open the second door on their right and pulled her inside, closing the door behind them and then locking it. She hopped into his arms, knocking him back onto the four post bed, complete with silky sheer canopy. “This is quite posh, isn't it?”

“I am the future King after all,” he quipped, reaching up and pushing the hair that cascaded around her face from his view as she leaned over him, her thighs straddling his waist. She leaned down, and found his earlobe, taking it gently between her teeth. His short inhalation told her to do it again and she moved to the other side, her tongue trailing up his neck from his jaw before she nibbled his other lobe.

“Then allow me to serve you, my King,” she whispered, her fingers trailing up his chest and into his hair to tug gently before she pushed her body downwards, the clothing between them not impeding his obvious arousal. She slipped her hands up under his tunic, her palms rubbing over the gentle waves of his abdomen. She lifted the garment over his head, his muscles flexing as he lifted his head and shoulders to be rid of the cloth. She paused to take him in. Previously they had not been in the situation where she'd had a chance to really enjoy the view. Packed in a tent in the dark was not conducive to staring when it was normally chilly on the other side of the canvas. She sat back, his erection pressed against her backside as she traced over his skin with her fingertips. He had a few scars from their travels and others she didn't recognize, likely from his training days. As she traced over some of the more recent ones, he reached up and took her hands in his to kiss them lightly, his face telling her that the past was past and what he needed now was her. She lifted herself up over him, still trapped in the laces of his leather trousers. Before she could work them free, he was pulling her tunic over her head and mussing her hair. She giggled, smoothing it back down as he too, stared at her assets.

When she had changed to give her broken down armor to the blacksmith for repairs, she had foregone the use of a breastband, the loose tunic doing a fine enough job at doing what was needed unless she ran, and he cocked his head as if shocked. “What? No contraptions blocking my path?” he chuckled, reaching up to cup her breasts in his palms. She shrugged and leaned into his hands, allowing him his fun as she worked his laces free. He breathed a sigh of relief as she helped him free of the restricting fabric and then slowly wrapped her fingers around his shaft to squeeze gently. He returned the favor with her breasts and she bit her lip against the tugging in her gut. “Maker, that expression.”

He fiddled with her nipples, his fingers teasing them to points before taking a palm full again and squeezing. Then he ran his hands up to her neck, pulling her back down so she was pressed against him, trapping him between them. She purposefully shifted so he rubbed against the soft fabric of the leggings she was wearing as they kissed. He hissed under the attention and she smiled, taking his lip between her teeth before she whispered, “If it's too much... ask me to stop...”

Instead of a response, he shifted his own hips, repeating the sensation as he buried his face in her neck, nearly resorting to using his own teeth as he kissed her slowly warming flesh. His hands kneaded their way down her back, and his fingers found their way into her smalls to tightly grip her cheeks. She responded by pushing against him again, this time the hiss accompanied by a chuckle. “Don't ever stop.”

There was one thing in their routine that never changed. She was on top. When Alistair wrapped his arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back, she let out a gasp and a moan of shock and arousal as he took the reins for the first time. She arched her back as he decisively leaned in and began to kiss all up and down her body, his hands tracing her curves. “Sweet love of Andraste,” she whimpered as he traced her navel with his tongue. When he tugged both her leggings and her smalls off, and slipped a hand down to trace around her, she bucked under the attention. His opposite hand reached up to gently hold her down against the silken sheets, the cool fabric soothing against the fire burning between them. He lifted her left leg, placing it over his shoulder and then he kissed from her knee down her thigh as she gripped the sheets in anticipation.

He glanced up at her, his blue eyes dark with lust. “I want to taste you,” he murmured, his breath whispering over her dampened loins. She reached down, realizing he was asking her permission. This was uncharted territory for him and she nodded, gripping his free hand.

He was tentative at first, small kisses around her opening driving her into a frenzy, then his tongue flicked out, slipping just over top. She gasped and panted as her need throbbed with every lingering swipe. Finally, he plunged his tongue deeper, drawing a short cry from her lips. Her fists closed around the sheets that she had balled up beside her. “Maker's Breath!”

He gripped her thighs, his fingers almost so tight she might bruise as he reacted with a humming chuckle to her breathy exclamation. The vibration from his throat nearly did her in and she could have bitten her own lip off as he pulled away, realizing what he'd nearly done. She whimpered and he grinned up at her, kissing her thigh. “Not so soon, my dear.”

She gently kicked him away, her foot on his chest. He grabbed her leg and batted it aside, climbing up to lean over her. He was so close, she imagined she could feel him hovering just over where his tongue had just worked wonders. “For someone who's never done that before, you're spectacular,” she gasped. “I like you taking charge.”

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him against her and shifting her hips so he rubbed against her outside. “Just don't expect it on the battlefield,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor. He shifted above her and with her next breath, he slipped inside, pausing to kiss her. “There. Much better.”

He moved as fluidly as he did on the battlefield. Every twitch of every muscle meant for a specific purpose. Every inch of his skin that touched hers was like fire. It was as if he had done this a million times, his confidence soaring as he guided them. Together, they had taken his fumbling nerves and turned them into a feeling of comfort. It was as if twined together among the silk sheets or traveling blankets was more of a home to them than either of them had ever had. They were safe, warm, and content. Nothing stood between them as long as they had each other. His final thrust reached into her, his warmth flooding inside her as she cried out, raking her nails down his back. He laughed, closing his lips around hers to muffle her ecstacy. They might not be in a thin tent, but they were still in a public castle, and stone walls echoed more than any other kind. She moved her mouth from his to clamp down on his shoulder, still riding the orgasm. He nuzzled into her neck, his weight settling lightly on top of her, and he was still laughing as he gently pulled out of her and rolled onto his side. “That was... Holy Maker...” she breathed as he smiled, kissing her upper arm.

“You may have alerted the entire castle, dear,” he chuckled as she reached over and playfully shoved his shoulder.

“It wasn't that loud,” she huffed, before rolling to face him, a grin spreading over her face as she walked her fingers up his chest to tap his nose. “ _You_ should take top more often.”

“You liked that, did you?” he asked, a satisfied smirk lifting one side of his mouth further than the other. “I wanted to try something new while we had this fancy bed to work with,” he said rolling to his back and lacing his hands behind his head.

She moved closer, pressing her body against his, and lazily slinging her arm over his chest, “I'm glad you were comfortable enough to try it,” she said.

His head lifted and a moment later, his arm snaked around her and his hand rubbed up and down her upper arm. “Of course I did. We've been together long enough... Well it hasn't been _that_ long, but you know what I mean... I love you, Sol, and I want to show you that. However I can. We don't know how this thing will end...”

“Shh...” she lifted up and touched her finger to his lips, gazing down at his beautiful eyes. “I don't want to think about that.”

“Alright,” he conceded, grinning around her finger and then pretending to bite it. She giggled, flicking his nose. “So what shall we talk about?”

“Hmm,” she sighed, settling back in against him. “Orlesian cheese.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Only the Orlesians could take something as wonderful as cheese and ruin it. Too smelly... what else?”

“Uh...” She continued to suggest outrageous and silly topics that they had a grand time discussing late into the night in between several more bouts of love making. She couldn't stop smiling as she laid, spent, beside him. “You're on the wrong side,” she complained as she tried to get comfortable on his left side.

“If it's that important, just switch,” he said with a chuckle. He slid his arm under her and rolled her over him as she let out a short scream of surprise.

Then he huddled in behind her, his chest against her back. “Ugh, you're all sweaty.”

“I don't care, stop complaining,” he grumbled trapping her with his leg, then resting his head on top of hers so they were laying cheek to cheek. “Did you know,” he said, his voice rumbling through her entire body. “Behind the cliffs near the castle, there are these magnificent hot springs that look out over the valley? I was thinking tomorrow, we could take a stroll, bring our swimming suits and take a dip...”

“We don't have swimming suits, Alistair,” she corrected, with a grin.

“I must have forgotten... silly me,” he purred, his warm breath on her neck.

He hugged her against him, and she settled down with her head resting on his arm. She reached out with her magic, casting a small fireball at the fireplace, reigniting the dying embers against the chill in the air. “That sounds wonderful,” she said with a yawn. “I... I need to tell you how much I enjoy your company,” she blurted.

“You know I was just thinking the same thing,” he agreed. “Given the circumstances, things could have been _so_ much worse... I'm so grateful that you're... you... instead of some other Grey Warden... That sounded better in my head. I just mean to say that I've really come to care about you.”

She smiled. “I feel the same way.”

“Now we just need to be rid of this pesky Archdemon and everything will be back to normal, right? Get some rest,” he soothed. “Maker knows you deserve it. I'm right here.”

 

Nearly three weeks passed on the road with Eamon and his entourage. The pace was slow and frustrating, but as they approached Denerim, she took note of Alistair stepping up to put himself in the thick of the political discussions instead of hiding from the responsibility being thrown on his shoulders. She was worried, but not for him. She actually believed he would make an excellent king. He was just, fair minded, and cool headed. What worried her was their situation. They had inadvisably fallen for each other and now that things were working out according to plan, she wondered where she might fit in the life of a king. She was a mage, born in another country and tainted by the Blight. Even if she wanted to rule at his side, which she didn't, the people would never accept her as queen. She watched him pouring over the lists and notes that Eamon provided him, showing who would likely support them and who was on Loghain's side and her heart swelled with pride. He was far from the reluctant man who had bumbled through the explanation of his blood. He was a king. Ferelden needed him. She sighed as he glanced in her direction and offered him a brief smile. The papers in his hands lowered as he became distracted by her obvious unease. She grinned and made a shooing motion with her hand to remind him to get back to his duties. One brow raised and his head cocked with curiosity, but he returned to his task. A discussion was imminent and she could have kicked herself for allowing him to see her concern. That last thing she needed to do was plant doubt in his confidence.

She managed to avoid him until they got to Denerim which was much easier since they needed to sleep alone for secrecy's sake. Eamon brought them to his estate on the edges of the market district and they had barely gotten in the front door when Loghain showed up with a man and woman, armed to the teeth and glaring menacingly. Solona glared from Eamon's side as he turned to face the traitor. “Loghain. This is... an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally.” He tipped his head slightly, not even a half bow.

Loghain grimaced then his raspy voice spoke volumes to his displeasure at being challenged. “How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?”

“The Blight is why I'm here,” Eamon said squaring his shoulders. “With Cailan dead, Ferelden _must_ have a king to lead it against the Darkspawn.”

Loghain pointed angrily at Eamon's chest. “Ferelden has a strong leader. It's queen. And I lead her armies.”

“The throne belongs to Maric's only living son,” Solona spat, drawing attention to herself and almost immediately regretting it.

“And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road?” Loghain asked, obviously not recognizing her. Or not caring to. “And here I thought it was only royal bastards you played the nursemaid to.”

“Well, you're admitting the 'royal' part. That's a start,” Alistair mumbled.

“I am Solona, of the Grey Wardens,” she admitted boldly, rubbing her survival in his face.

Loghain grunted. “You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden.”

She snorted and crossed her arms. “I don't accept the sympathies of deserters and regicides.”

Loghain's sneer could have melted the snow from mountains. “You should curb your tongue. This is my city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone.” Loghain clasped his hands behind his back, his plate armor clanking in protest. “There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden.”

Eamon was not cowed. “ 'Illness'? Why not call your poison by it's true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these...” his eyes roved over the others with Loghain and his lip curled back in disgust. “Sycophants.”

“How long you've been gone from court, Eamon! Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, and Teyrn of Highever?” Loghain taunted, indicating the man.

“And current Arl of Denerim,” the man added smugly, his large nose pointed upwards. “since Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar. The regent has been... generous to those who prove loyal.”

Solona snorted again and twisted her mouth in a jeer, mockingly impressed. “Boot-licking appears to be profitable these days.”

The woman at Loghain's side had a pretty face but when she sneered at Solona, her tight ponytail mottling her features as it tugged on her skin, she turned into a fearsome and unerringly loyal creature. “Don't interrupt, churl! Your betters are talking!”

Loghain held his hand up, glancing over his giant pauldrons to ease her off. “Enough, Cauthrian, this is not the time or place.” He returned his attention to Eamon. “I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened... Our king is dead... Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne.”

“You're the one who divided Ferelden!” Solona shouted, her voice matching his rising pitch.

“I was not talking to you,” he snapped, his stern eyes falling on her again.

Eamon sighed. “I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight.”

“Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure...” Alistair said sarcastically.

“The Emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down,” Loghain stepped into Eamon's space. “Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.” With that threat, he turned and stormed off, his tiny entourage following behind.

A ragged sigh escaped Eamon and he turned to Solona. “Well, that was... bracing. I didn't expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon.”

“What do we do now?” she asked, wondering when he had scheduled the Landsmeet for.

“Calling the Landsmeet is only the start. Now we must ensure that every noble there sees Loghain's duplicity. We have no small task ahead of us. We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. Go have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us. When you're ready to talk strategy, come upstairs to my sitting room. We can lay out our plans for the Landsmeet then.”

He patted her shoulder and disappeared up the wide staircase from the entry hall into the main part of the estate. “That got pretty heated,” Alistair said, gripping her opposite shoulder as soon as Eamon was out of sight. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she nodded with a sigh, watching a finely dressed elven woman being escorted from the kitchens toward where Eamon had gone. She was no ordinary servant, compared to what Solona had already observed of the estate's staff. Something was amiss. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“A lot will be decided in the next few days,” he agreed, brazenly tucking her hair behind her ears. “Maybe we should...”

She cut him off by stepping away from his touch. “I think I'm going to send Zev and Leliana out into the city to gather some information on the state of things.” She hurried toward the small guest quarters where her people had been assigned bunks for their stay. Finding the two huddled together playing a hand of cards with Wynne on one of the bunks, she approached them. “Hey, when you are finished, I have a small task for you and Zev,” she said setting a hand on Leliana's shoulder.

“Anything, of course,” Leliana said as Zevran reached over and deftly lifted a coin from Wynne's pile.

“I saw that young man,” Wynne scolded and Zevran grinned mischievously before dropping the coin back on the pile. “I also see the angel of death tucked in your sleeve.” Wynne smirked.

“Ahhh, Wynne, my aged beauty, you see through all of my wiles,” he said with a sigh. “Truly you are a wonder I would enjoy bedding.”

Wynne snorted, very much out of character for her. “You could not handle me, assassin.”

Zevran sighed again. “What would you have of me, my dear Grey Warden, as it seems my night will be free?”

Solona explained her idea and they both gathered their things and set out to do a sweep of the city. Before Alistair could trap her into a heart to heart, she made it her new mission to find out what the finely dressed elven woman was there for. She left the guest wing and headed up the stairs Eamon had taken. Alistair dragging his heels behind her.

They found the woman in Eamon's sitting room and Solona hovered in the doorway with Alistair until Eamon saw her and beckoned them over. “Ah, Warden. I trust you've made yourself comfortable.”

“Actually, I was hoping for silk sheets and candied grapes,” Solona smirked, stopping to eyeball the woman beside Eamon.

Eamon chuckled. “Why don't we ensure Loghain won't have us all executed first, and worry about how to celebrate later.” he nodded toward the woman, noting Solona's gaze. “This is Erlina. She's...”

The elf stepped forward and in a thick Orlesian accent she said, “I am Queen Anora's handmaiden. She sent me here to ask for your help.”

“Or perhaps the young lady prefers to speak for herself,” Eamon grunted at the interruption.

“Why would Anora ask us for help?” Solona asked suspiciously.

“The queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think?” the woman said quickly, her accent making it hard to follow. Solona listened closely, hanging on every word. “She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her 'not to trouble herself'.”

“Are you saying the queen believes Loghain killed Cailan?” Solona gasped.

“My queen suspects she cannot trust her father. And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe, he is privy to all the secrets and... not so subtle. So she goes to Howe. A visit from the queen to the new arl of Denerim is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers.”

Having only met the man once, Solona grunted and crossed her arms. “I guess that didn't go well.”

“He calls her every sort of name, 'traitor' being the kindest, and locks her in a guest room,” the woman nodded.

“Loghain would allow that?” Solona gasped.

“King Cailan was like a son to him, and Loghain left him to die. Does he love Anora more? Who can say? I think... her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon.”

Solona narrowed her eyes. “Would Loghain kill his own daughter just to frame Eamon?”

Eamon sighed. “We may have no choice but to trust Anora. The queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeded in pinning her death on me... I'm not sure that's a risk we can afford to take.”

Solona slowly nodded. “You're right. We have to help.”

Erlina sighed and smiled in relief. “I have some uniforms. Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir. I will show you to the servants' entrance. We must slip in and out with my queen before anyone is the wiser. I will go ahead to Howe's estate. Meet me there as soon as you can.” She left with a bow.

 

The uniforms were heavy and Solona chafed as Alistair helped her to buckle them on properly. She was not used to carrying around so much weight. The sword he lashed to her belt made her feel lopsided and she huffed.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked her, slipping the helmet down over her head to hide her features. “Is Anora's support this important to risk the both of us?” Barkspawn whimpered and cocked his head and Alistair corrected himself. “The three of us...”

“I don't want her support,” Solona scoffed, twisting her body to try and get more comfortable in the disguise. “I want her controlled. If she _thinks_ she has my support, fine by me...”

Alistair cocked his brow. “That's... a might underhanded...” he said warily.

She bent and picked up his helmet and handed it to him. “I've never met her, but until I can get a read on her, I don't trust her as far as Shale could throw her. You are still Ferelden's best chance... Unfortunately,” she sighed. He took the helmet and tucked it under one arm as she turned and began to shuffle away to the exit.

He stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Listen, I told you before... I'm in love, I'm not stupid... We are going to have a talk when this is over,” he said forcefully.

She took his hand from her arm, the metal on their gauntlets making a soft 'tink' sound as they collided. “We will...” she agreed. “When this is over.” She did not specify that the 'this' she was referring to was the Landsmeet. She knew nothing until everything was decided.

They walked through the city, Solona paranoid of the loud sounds they made as they clomped down the streets. No one else seemed to notice or pay any attention. They were just two more of the Arl's guards. When they reached the estate, there was crowd gathered outside the front doors that was verging on becoming a mob. The people were angry and it was a perfect distraction. Solona did not care a fig for why they were there. Erlina stood behind a cart parked to the left behind the crowd that several guards were trying to get under control. She motioned them to her as she recognized them. “This way. The servant's entrance is around the back. Once we get there, I will distract the guards at the door so you may slip inside unnoticed.”

They followed the shadows around the side of the estate to the rear where a small farm was growing crops specifically for the Arl's use. The circle tower and most chantrys had similar gardens, but Solona saw this one as an exorbitant waste. The previous Arl must have been as full of himself as Howe. She sneered and followed Erlina to a patch of bushes. She and Alistair crouched in the tall greenery, her arms around Barkspawn's neck to keep him in place. Shale had given him a nasty habit of jumping at every bird he saw and there was a nest of crows not far from their hiding spot. “Bloody birds,” she griped as Barkspawn's muscles strained under her weight. “Sit, you crazy beast.”

Barkspawn huffed, but ceased his straining. Solona knew that if he had decided to take off, she would not have been able to restrain him. She sighed in relief and he turned to lick her face. Alistair chuckled as she pushed the brute off her and groaned. When Erlina had lured the guards away, Solona pushed her way out of the bushes and the three of them rushed to the door and slipped inside. They were spilled into a small alcove off the kitchen. They waited as patiently as possible, for Erlina to return. She came to them through the kitchen, panting from her run. She led them through the barracks, Alistair walking much more casually than Solona could muster. They were behind enemy lines and she was without a staff and encumbered by all of the heavy armor. They passed the front entrance where a lone guard stood and Solona could feel the guard's curious eyes on them. She sighed when they passed into the next hallway and Erlina moved to a wooden door to the left. Solona groaned as magic seeped from the door and rolled over her skin. She reached out to touch the spell and cursed. Erlina tapped on the door. “My Lady, I've returned with the Grey Warden.”

“Thank the Maker,” a feminine voice said from the other side of the door. “I would greet you properly, but I'm afraid we've had... a setback.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Solona said, her fingers trailing through the magic as she realized she would not be able to dispel it on her own.

“My 'host' was not content with leaving me under heavy guard. He's sealed the door by magic,” the voice said grumpily.

“How do we open it?” Solona asked, hoping Anora knew something about the spell.

“Find the mage who cast the spell. He'll most likely be at Howe's side,” she guessed.

“So much for secrecy,” Solona grumbled, glancing back at Alistair.

The voice came sarcastically through the door again, “Well, if he didn't know you were here, he soon will. Teyrn Howe will probably be in his rooms. They're at the end of the hall, on the left.”

“Fine, I'll be back soon,” she promised, tugging Alistair behind her as she slipped from the alcove and back into the hallway. They hurried down the blissfully empty hallway and to the last door on their left. The door was unlocked and Solona pushed it open, poking her head in low. The room was deserted. “Dammit,” she cursed, pushing the door open further and stepping in. “He's not here.”

“Maybe we should look around. If Howe is as privy to things as Anora thought, we may find some dirt on Loghain,” Alistair suggested, beginning to shuffle through some papers on a desk near the door. Solona left that room to him and moved further into the suite, finding the sleeping area and an intriguing chest. She knelt down and felt the top of the chest, noticing that it was magically sealed. She slipped her own mana into the spell and broke the seal. The chest came open and she found a stack of parchments marked with the griffon seal. She snatched them out of the chest and looked over them. A list of names, recruitment records and a magical ritual that looked complex. “Find anything?” Alistair asked, joining her from the foyer.

She stood and shook the papers at him. “These are Warden documents!” she hissed, showing him the seals.

He glanced over them and frowned. “How did the Arl get a hold of these?” he gasped, looking at her.

“I don't know, but we're relieving him of them,” she said, taking them from him and tucking them into a pouch at her hip. There was another door beside the fireplace. “Where do you think that leads?” she wondered.

“Hopefully to Howe,” Alistair said, opening the door to reveal a steep set of stone stairs that led to a dark hallway. “Smells like a dungeon.”

They went inside, Barkspawn on Solona's heels growling softly and she touched his nose to stop the noise. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a square of light from a torch on the other side of a thick door with a tiny window near the top for guards to see who was coming. Solona boldly threw open the door, like she was supposed to be there and a lone guard reacted. “Who goes there?”

Before she could answer, a pale arm shot out of the bars to the cell behind the guard. It grabbed him around the neck and he fell backwards against the bars, choking until the second hand reached out to snap his neck. The guard dropped like a sack and Solona backed up into Alistair's chest as the prisoner pulled the ring of keys from his belt and opened the cell to drag the corpse in and steal his clothing. Moments later, a man emerged with dark hair and gaunt cheeks that sprouted a beard that made her realize he had been locked away for a few days at least. “I thank you for creating such distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for the opportunity... Do you think you could...? Alistair? Is that you?”

Alistair stepped around her and frowned. “Who...? Wait, I do know you. You were at my joining...” He glanced back at Solona and smiled widely. “He's one of us. A Warden from Orlais. Jader, I think. Or was it Montsimmard? I'm afraid I don't remember your name.”

The man bowed low, one arm behind him and one over his gut, a very Orlesian style. “I'm Riordan, senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever and glad to be home.” The lightness of his accent now made sense. He had only picked it up after going to Orlais. He was not native.

“Why weren't you killed at Ostagar?” Solona wondered. She had thought she and Alistair the only surviving Wardens.

“Because I wasn't there,” he sighed sadly. “I was sent from Orlais when we received no word from King Cailan... The king had invited all the Wardens of Orlais, and their support troops to join him, then... nothing.”

“How large a force did you bring with you?” she asked excitedly. They may have just been given salvation.

When he lowered his gaze, her heart sank. “We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain's edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when the rumor reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. We finally decided it was safest to send somene alone, to learn how best to fight the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Ferelden, I volunteered to make the crossing.”

“But the Archdemon's nearly here! Will we have no help?” she moaned in frustration.

“The other Wardens won't risk their strength fighting Ferelden's civil war. If they spend themselves against Loghain, there is truly no hope,” he said sadly. “They recall accounts of the first Blight, how many cities fell. If Ferelden is too foolish to save itself, at least we'll be ready when the Archdemon leads it's forces further. Besides, I hear you haven't been doing badly at raising an army yourself. But perhaps if the edict can be lifted... I will send a message as soon as we are gone from this place.”

She cocked her head. “How did Arl Howe capture you?”

He sighed heavily. “With an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice. I was fool enough to think Loghain didn't yet know who I was.”

She reached in her pouch and pulled out the documents they had found. “Are these your papers?”

“Yes.” he smiled, taking them from her and reading over them to be sure everything was there. “These are my records. The names of the dead I could recognize at Ostagar. What I could find of Duncan's own recruitment records. Copies of the Joining ritual I rescued from our Denerim vault. Those should never be seen by any outside eyes, but I trust in their encryption.”

“The Joining Ritual? Can you induct other Grey Wardens?” she wondered, her excitement rising again.

“Would that I could, for Ferelden severely needs them. But for the Joining to work, the recruit needs not only fresh Darkspawn blood, but a drop of blood preserved from an Archdemon. Ferelden's supply should have been in the vault, but it was gone. I can only imagine someone took it out and Loghain either confiscated or destroyed it,” he explained.

She sighed and glanced back at Alistair. “Where's Howe?” she asked, turning back to Riordan.

“I saw him go into the dungeons. He may still be there,” he tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward another door.

“Do you want to come with us?” she asked.

“I wouldn't be much use to you in my current condition. And, if you'll pardon me, I've a sudden desire to breathe some free air.” He bowed again. “I will seek you out later... after I find a good physician. And good luck... sister.”

She and Alistair stepped aside and let him pass. In the guard's armor, it should be a simple enough thing for him to escape on his own. Solona sighed. “A visit to the dungeons. Exactly how I wanted to spend my day.”

“At least we'll be on the right side of the bars,” Alistair agreed, heading for the door that Riordan had indicated.

In their hunt for Howe, the dungeons revealed many interesting plots against several of the nobles in the Bannorn, along with Howe's lust for sadism and torture. He had quite the collection of prisoners, many of which had done nothing more than survive Ostagar. Solona released them all as they traveled the large maze of dungeon cells and torture chambers. She had no doubt that they made friends with several of the noble houses that might have been walking the razor's edge on who to support in the Landsmeet. They would find out when they got out of there. First, they needed to find Howe and his pet mage.

She could sense the pull of magic not far away and she followed it past some storage rooms and into another torture room ringed with cells. Howe stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by guards and more than one mage. Solona narrowed her eyes. He had obviously been expecting them. Solona's hands crackled with rage, sharp bolts of lightning arching between her fingers as she recalled the atrocities they'd witnessed in the last hour, Riordan being one of the lucky ones. “Well, well. The Grey Warden. I must say I'm surprised Eamon would condone you invading my castle and murdering my men. Is he losing faith in the persuasive powers of his Landsmeet?” He taunted with a mocking grin.

“I'm here for Anora,” she growled stepping toward him. Several of his guards twitched for their weapons and Barkspawn growled menacingly.

He laughed. “The traitorous bitch has you under her thumb? Anora does love games. I'm surprised she'd play with the likes of you... You should have left when you had the chance, Warden. Slunk off to the Anderfels to hide with the rest of your kind. This Landsmeet is a farce. Loghain will triumph and you will die,” he threatened, pulling his own weapons. A dagger and a hatchet, and he swung them expertly. She inched back from his reach and Barkspawn lunged for him. Alistair drew his sword and shield and stepped protectively in front of her.

Solona called on her power, the raw mana channeled through her fingers calmed her nerves as she knelt calmly and touched a finger to the ground, drawing two quick glyphs and flicking them toward the two mages. They needed to be dealt with immediately. Once they were trapped in her crushing prisons, she cast a walking bomb on one of the warriors who thought to stab down at her. Alistair stepped in his way as he writhed and the spell ate him alive from the inside. “Get behind your shield!” She called to Alistair as the man began to wretch. He dropped low and the man exploded, blood and bone rocketing like projectiles. Some pinged off of Alistair's shield as he surrounded herself with a humming barrier. One of the other warriors began to shudder under the virulent spell after one of the shards of bone had penetrated his armor and plugged itself in his flesh. Howe rushed her, knocking her to the ground. “Don't!” she cried at Alistair who moved to help. He needed to stay away from the man who was getting ready to explode. “The mages will be free soon,” she grunted as Howe tried to stab down at her with his dagger. Barkspawn had mauled him well, but it would take a bit more to kill the bastard. His blood dripped from several bite marks on his neck and arms, making his grip on her slick and unpredictable. She called ice to her palm and grabbed the dagger. The blade bit into her palms and she gritted her teeth as the frost climbed the blade and eeked into his fingers. He cried out, loosening his grip on the blade as the cold burned though him. She twisted and wrenched it from his grip and threw it aside. He used his other hand to swing his axe down at her. She twisted and rolled out from under him just as the sharp blade clanged into the stone where her head had just been. She kicked for his groin but connected wit his gut instead and he reared back, gasping for air. She lifted her palms and fire ignited beneath him.

As he choked and burned, Howe grunted out his final words. “Maker spit on you. I deserved... more...” The flames engulfed his body and he fell, the acrid stench of flames and charring flesh reaching her nostrils as Alistair cut down the final mage and Barkspawn began to lick the cuts on her palms, whimpering.

“Good boy,” she whispered, wincing under the slick attentions of his tongue. Alistair joined them and took one of her hands in his. “It's not so bad,” she insisted.

He pulled some bandages from his belt and wrapped her hands until they could return to Wynne. “We should see if there is anyone else in these dungeons before we return to Anora.”

She nodded her agreement and they searched Howe's body for a key that would fit the locks on these cells. Below in a pit like area, two cells stood occupied. One contained the son of the Arl who had previously ruled Denerim. She released him with the promise that he would lend his voice to their cause in spite of his better-than-thou attitude, and the story of an elf a few cells previously that said he was quite the troublemaker in the Alienage. The other cell, she opened immediately for the cowering man in nothing but his small clothes, blood splattered all over him, most of which was his. “Andraste, Bride of the Maker, have mercy on me,” he whispered as he noticed them. He frowned and his eyes went distant momentarily before they refocused on her. “Alfstanna... is that you, little sister?... No... I don't know you... do I? Are you real?”

“Are you all right?” Solona asked, stepping a bit closer to inspect his wounds. The man shied away, cowering against the wall of his cell. She backed away, his stench overwhelming when she got that close.

He looked at her again and his face twisted in confusion. “Alfstanna? I... don't know. Where is my sister. Have you seen her? I... I'm Irminric, Knight-Lieutenant of the Denerim Chantry. You... aren't one of the teyrn's men?” He slowly took in her armor and frowned again.

“He sounds like he's in Lyrium withdrawl,” Alistair suggested softly. “He's got all the signs. Confusion, weepiness... He probably doesn't even know what he's saying. If the grand cleric knew he were in here, she'd be spitting hot coals. Nobles don't have authority over templars.”

Irminric stuttered. “I... I failed in my duties. Maker, forgive me. I failed, and there's no telling what he's done...” He buried his face in his hands and whimpered.

“Who are you talking about?” Solona asked.

His head shot back up. “The maleficar. He had turned blood magic upon templars and Circle mages to escape from his tower. Near Redcliffe, I cornered him... But the Teyrn's men took him from me... and brought me here...”

Solona gasped. “This maleficar, was his name Jowan?”

“Yes. He... destroyed his phylactery... we were spread out, trying to find him... I was alone. I... you are real, aren't you? My dreams are... so strange now. Please, if you're not a dream, help me.”

“You realize the door is open, right? You're free,” she pointed out softly, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man.

“No one can free me from failure, save Blessed Andraste,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“What do you want me to do?” Solona asked, bearing the smell to step toward him again.

He held up shaky, bleeding hands and slipped a ring from his finger. The symbol was caked in blood and she could not quite make out the crest. “Give this ring to my sister, Alfstanna. Tell her... tell her I'm sorry. Please, ask her... to pray for me.” He dropped to one knee and began to do his own praying, his breathy pleading wrapping a sorrowful fist around Solona's heart.

Alistair led her away and she pocketed the ring. That name sounds familiar,” Alistair mused.

“Is she a noble?” Solona asked hopefully. She might even be in the city.

He nodded. “I think so. A minor Bann. Waking Sea, I believe,” he said, scratching his head as they left the dungeon and headed for a stairway leading back to the estate's main floor. With the mages dead, the seal on Anora's door should have dissipated.

They hurried through the castle, back to the bedroom where Erlina still hovered by the door. The magic was blissfully gone and Solona sighed in relief. She stepped up and opened the door. A woman in more guard armor stepped out. She held herself with poise, her fingers twined before her and her back stiff as a board. Hear neck was slightly turned to the side as she regarded her rescuers. “My thanks.”

Solona smirked. “Aren't you a little short for a guard?”

The woman pursed her lips and sneered. “Funny. Very funny. We must go quickly and avoid notice. If Howe's people find me, I'll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace... where my father may also have me killed.”

That was going to be particularly difficult as she and Alistair were covered in blood and bits of flesh from their encounter in the dungeons. Their disguises were ruined. The only way out would be through the front door, but Solona could hear the gathering troops in the next hall. She sighed and readied herself for a fight as they led Erlina and Anora out. “When the fighting starts, you need to get out as quickly as possible. Get to Arl Eamon,” she hissed. Anora nodded and they stepped into the foyer.

The woman waiting to greet them was the warrior she recognized from their encounter with Loghain. Cauthrien he had called her. “Warden!” she accused angrily. “In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms.” The door and walls behind her were blocked by a row of archers, warriors and a mage. Solona's eyes settled on the mage and she glared threateningly. “Surrender and you may be shown mercy.”

They would not win this fight, but to get Anora out, they needed the distraction. Solona clapped her hands together and shouted. “Death first!” When she pulled her hands apart, a wave of magic slammed all of the people back and Anora grabbed Erlina and slipped out the nearest door. “Barkspawn!” Solona tossed her head after the women and with a moment's hesitation, he whimpered but followed after them. He could protect them.

“Bring them down!” Cauthrien shouted. “Loghain wants the Warden dead or alive!”

“This was a fantastic plan,” Alistair grunted as the men recovered and swarmed them. Solona fought with all she could in the enclosed space without harming Alistair in the process. Without her staff, her magic was too unpredictable and unfocused. With her attention divided, Cauthrien slipped behind her and the pommel of the woman's sword came down sharply on Solona's temple. Her ears began to ring as the world spun around her. She didn't remember falling, but the last thing she heard was a muffled cry. “Sol!”

 

Something hard was pressed into her hip and her mouth was dry. Footsteps clinked not far off. Men in armor, she guessed as the chainmail rattled softly. Drums were pounding in her head with every heartbeat. She shifted her weight to alleviate the sharp stone beneath her and groaned as her stomach protested the movement. She realized that she was cradled in someone's arms and she slumped in relief when she heard Alistair's voice. “Oh, you're awake. I was starting to worry.”

He helped her to sit up and she swallowed more nausea as she opened her eyes and looked around at their surroundings. The floor they sat on was filthy, the spot they were in in the middle of the floor being the least dingy space. They had both been stripped to their smalls and she shuddered, the damp cold air hitting her skin as his arms left her. She hugged herself and sighed. “I've never seen a prison from this side before, very scenic.” She got to her feet, her head spinning and he jumped up to help steady her.

He chuckled softly. “ 'Join the Grey Wardens! See the sights from the best prisons in the land!' It's not much of a recruitment slogan, is it?”

She swallowed again and smiled at him. They were in the pit of the dungeons from what she could tell, and one lone guard milled around looking bored. “Let's get out of here,” she smirked.

He balked. “I hope you have a plan.”

She slowly tossed her head toward the guard. “He doesn't look very bright, does he?”

“Looks can be deceiving. I'm living proof of that,” he said narrowing his eyes at the guard.

“I apologize in advance,” she hissed, pushing him away and slapping him hard enough that the crack echoed across the dungeon. Then she quickly tipped one of the straps from her breastband off her shoulder and moved to the bars to reach out to the guard who was coming to investigate. “Ser, please.” she begged, leaning heavily against the cold bars.

“If you're not bleeding, I don't care,” he grumbled and she fought the urge to raise a brow and glance up at the gash on her head.

Instead, she shifted her hips alluringly and bit her lip. “I was just... lonely,” she purred.

The guard's mouth fell open and he glanced at Alistair who was rubbing his cheek and pouting. Then he glanced back at Solona and took in her 'vulnerable' state and grinned. “Well, I could keep you company...”

He fumbled with the keys on his belt and Solona winked briefly at Alistair who scowled in return. When the guard opened the gate and stepped in, closing it behind him, Solona approached him, desperately trying to maintain a semblance of control over her equilibrium as she swayed her hips in excess. Then she plucked at his armor, her fingertip trailing over the thin chain as she said, “Why don't you take that off so we can get started?”

He grinned brightly, completely ignoring the fact that Alistair was still there as the woman before him took away his senses. “Maker, they put a lot of buckles on this thing,” he grunted as she settled into a hip, her arms crossed and watched him, feigning great interest.

When his armor finally fell to the ground and he moved to grab her, she lashed out with a fist, a burst of magic behind the swing. She punched him square in the chest, hearing his ribs crack and he fell to the ground gasping, his eyes bulging as he lost consciousness. She knelt and felt for a pulse, a light fluttering telling her he was still alive. “Grab his gear,” she said to Alistair who stood gaping at her.

“You're a little scary,” he said as he picked up the guard's discarded armor and slipped into it. “What about you?” She picked up the keys and reached out of the cell and slipped the key into the lock and released them.

“We need to find the armory. Did you see anything when they brought us in?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They blindfolded me. But this is Fort Drakon. I've been here before. We can't just walk out the door.”

“That's exactly what I intend to do,” she said, keeping a bit of magic channeled in her palms in case they met any more resistance. “By the time anyone realizes we're missing, we'll be long gone.”

“Your head...” he began to protest.

“I'll be fine,” she insisted, ignoring the throbbing and constant nausea that spoke of a concussion. “We need to get back to Eamon.”

“At least let me go first,” he chuckled as she walked confidently ahead of him in naught but her small clothes.

She paused and flushed. “Right... sorry.”

As they found their way out of the dungeon, he paused when she saw a overflowing chest. There was blood on the gear sticking out and she stopped Alistair so she could investigate. “Those are our things!” he gaped as she dug into the chest.

“The armor is ruined, but... Irminric's ring,” she said, pulling the pouch from the belt.

Alistair dropped the borrowed sword and pulled out his gear, settling his shield onto his back and sheathing his sword. “Let's go find you some clothes,” he said.

They carefully picked their way to the armory, with no interference. The heavy armor that Solona had hated hours ago now felt safe and comfortable as she slipped it on. Alistair found a water barrel and a rag and gently cleaned up the sticky blood from her forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered as he dabbed water around the stinging cut.

He smiled sweetly at her before gently kissing the opposite side of her head. “This looks really bad,” he commented.

She nodded. “I know, but we need to get out of here before we worry. I can still fight, for now, but I can feel it getting worse.”

“Maker,” he pulled her against him in a tight hug and then hunted down a helmet to cover the wound.

When she was disguised, they left the armory and headed for the door that led to the training hall. They were held up at the door as the guard asked for a password. He directed them to the Corporal's office for assignments and Solona and Alistair casually followed his instructions. They were luckily mistaken for new recruits that had never shown up apparently, and the Corporal sent them to collect their team. Then Solona had to convince the armorer to give them swords after the other two recruits had screwed up another assignment and he was angry with them. After inspection which she sweated through, knowing nothing about being a soldier, they were sent on their 'first patrol'. The men with them had the password and before they knew it, they were passing through the gigantic hall with four ballistas, one in each corner, and ceilings so high she was reminded of Orzammar. She felt her strength waning and nearly stumbled as they reached the exit. Outside the fort, the other two guards were talking distractedly amongst each other and she and Alistair swiftly incapacitated them.

“Let's get you out of here,” he said, lifting the heavy helmet off her head and taking her hand to steady her. They quickly made their way through back alleys and found their path blocked by a group of rogues, the leader of which was standing at the top of a set of stairs that led out to the market district. “What now?” Alistair grunted angrily.

“And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings once again. Where is Zevran?” The leader smirked, he arms crossed.

“Zevran is dead,” she lied, stepping forward boldly. She was not about to give up her friend.

The man laughed heartily. “Don't bother lying. We know he travels with you...”

“Here I am Taliesen,” Zevran said, appearing like smoke from seemingly nowhere, Leliana beside him. She had her bow drawn and aimed at the leader. She glanced at Solona, taking in her ragged appearance and her head cocked, her aim never wavering, but the tip of her arrow lighting up with magic as she whispered under her breath. “So they sent you, or did you volunteer for the job?” Zevran asked smoothly.

“I volunteered of course! When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself,” the man mused.

“Is that so? Well, here I am... in the flesh,” Zevran threw his arms out and bowed, his eyes never leaving the man.

“You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this. I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake,” he offered, more smoothly than Solona trusted.

“Of course I'd have to be dead,” she snapped as Zevran's eyes narrowed.

He looked directly at her, his eyes finally leaving the assassin and he smiled briefly. “And I'm not about to let that happen.”

“What?!” the man said mockingly. “You've gone soft?”

“I am sorry my old friend, but the answer is no... I'm not coming back and you should have stayed in Antiva,” with a sigh, Zevran flicked a small knife from his belt and it thudded into the man's neck. The rest of the assassins jumped into action. With their leader dead, they fought in a frenzy. Solona found herself short on mana, her weakened state leeching her energy.

As her magic sparked pitifully, Alistair grabbed her and pulled her behind his shield against his chest as arrows plunked into the metal, pinging uselessly in all directions. “Stay down,” he ordered, elbowing a man that came too close and then turning his sword to parry the man's dagger strike. The assassin dropped his weapon as his hand bled. Alistair barely moved from her as he stepped closer and jabbed his sword into the man's chest. Solona could feel Leliana's song of vigor slipping into her body and her magic sparked, giving her enough energy to fire off a chain lightning that took down three of the remaining assassins. “Save your strength,” Alistair chided. “Let us protect you for once.”

Zevran grunted as he took an arrow to the shoulder, but he quickly sidestepped another and darted forward, his quick daggers finding his assailant's jugular. Leliana finished off two more as they charged her, her single arrow shattering on impact with the chest of the first and the shrapnel magically directed into the second man's eyes. “And you said I was scary,” she chuckled as Alistair watched the bardic skills at work.

Zevran disappeared briefly to reappear with his dagger in the final assassin's back. Solona slumped against Alistair in relief as Leliana and Zevran both approached them. “Holy Maker, what happened?” Leliana asked.

“It's a really long story,” Solona sighed. “Are you all right?” she asked as Zevran glanced sadly around at the collection of assassin bodies.

“And there it is. Taliesen is dead and I am free of the Crows... They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out,” he sighed, glancing back at them.

“That's a good thing, isn't it?” Solona asked, sensing he was not completely satisfied.

“A very good thing,” he agreed before hanging his head briefly. “It is in fact what I had hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me...” he wrung his hands nervously before adding his next sentence. “I suppose it would be possible for me to leave now, if I wished. I could go far away... somewhere the Crows would never find me...” His expression suddenly did a complete turn around and he grinned mischievously. “But I suppose I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you after all, and saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”

Solona smiled. “Glad you're sticking around.” She patted his shoulder. “Now, can we get me to Wynne before I need to be carried. That would be embarrassing.”

Alistair huffed, but allowed her to lean on him as they shuffled back through the market district and to Eamon's estate. Wynne was just through the entry hall, and she gasped when they burst in the room. “Maker's breath... Oghren and Sten were just about to go after you two. When Anora returned and said you'd been captured, I prayed they hadn't harmed you.”

“Luckily, Loghain isn't that stupid,” Solona winced as her vision swam when she sat down on the nearest bed.

“She has a nasty concussion,” Alistair said, sitting on her opposite side to rest his hand on her back and help her remain sitting up. Wynne tsked and her palms began to glow a soft blue. She traced her fingers over the tender spot on Solona's temple and the sensation of her skin knitting together set Solona's teeth on edge, making her grip Alistair's free hand tightly, reminding him of the cuts they'd bandaged. “Her hands too,” he said, lifting it up. “If you can.”

“We apparently missed a great deal in our absence,” Zevran said with curiosity.

Alistair explained the mission to rescue Anora and as soon as he finished, Wynne had just completed knitting the flesh on Solona's hands. Leliana disappeared quietly. “I need to see Eamon,” Solona said, moving to stand.

“Whoa, hey now,” Alistair said, catching her as she didn't quite make it to her feet. “You know you need to rest.”

“I'll be fine,” she insisted.

“Young lady, you had better park your keester somewhere. The swelling in your head needs time to go down, and you of all people know I cannot simply wave my hands and make it better,” Wynne scolded.

Solona sighed and slumped against Alistair. “Yes, _mother_ ,” she breathed, her eye lids fluttering.

There was a bustle at the doorway and Eamon and Anora both tried to enter at once. “Maker's breath, It's good to see you in on piece, my friend,” Eamon said when he made it to her side. He briefly took in the sight of her cuddled against Alistair, but he said nothing.

Anora on the other hand narrowed her eyes and looked mightily disapproving. It was a terrifying expression on the petite blonde woman. She was not to be trifled with as she stood there in her silken dress and tightly braided pigtails that were wrapped into buns at her hairline.“Indeed, we have been praying for your safe return, Warden.”

“I think I've seen as much dungeon as I ever want to,” she said with a half hearted grin. Alistair chuckled softly beside her.

“I can believe it,” Eamon said with a smile. “Though I'm afraid if we do not act quickly to erode Loghain's support, we may all be seeing a great deal of Fort Drakon in the future.”

“How much time do we have to stop him?” Solona asked in concern. She needed time to recover.

“Very little. We will need to work together, and quickly,” Anora said sharply. Alistair grunted an glared at her, but she ignored him and continued. “My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe, it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind controlled me. He may even believe it.”

“Can he still take the throne without you?” she asked as Wynne placed a cold compress on her head. She glanced back thankfully and reached up to hold it in place.

“Perhaps. It will be more difficult for him, but if my father says the Grey Wardens are the enemy, many will believe it. He is a legend,” she shrugged.

Eamon sighed. “It's true... Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong, and this does little to help us.”

“At least that snake Howe is dead,” Anora spat, her own venom showing as she sneered. “That alone will not be enough, however. My father is committed to his path. You will need ammunition for the Landsmeet, and there I can help.” She shifted her stance and straightened her dress before continuing. “You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some... recent events. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar. Many people here are angry or grieving. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the Alienage. Few elves accompanied the army. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason. I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it.”

“A useful lead, Anora,” Eamon said with a frown. “But... you could have sent this information with your maid.”

“That is true,” she nodded. “I feared for my safety as Howe's prisoner, but to tell the truth, I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces. You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me.”

“And what of Alistair?” Solona asked, dropping the compress from her head and frowning. Alistair took the rag from her and placed it back, holding it on for her, his arm behind her head so he was not blocking her view.

Anora proceeded to pretend he was not sitting right in front of her and scoffed. “I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party... and I am already queen.”

“Anora,” Eamon chided. “You are indeed Cailan's widow, but...”

“ _I_ am the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general. Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years? Cailan?” she scoffed, verging on laughter. “I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne... I can help you stop my father. Consider what I have said. For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private.” She spun on her heel and left, the room falling deathly silent. Solona could feel anger seeping from Alistair and she really didn't blame him. Anora was mighty full of herself.

“Well, she's quite... spirited,” Eamon said crossing his arms and shrugging as he picked the kindest word to use. “I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes. I cannot help thinking she may be trouble. But we should keep her close, all the same.”

“Why do you think she's trouble?” Solona asked, hoping that rescuing her hadn't been a bad idea.

Eamon snorted. “This is an alliance of convenience... for the moment, we are united against Loghain. Be careful how much trust you place in her. I do not for a moment think Anora means to give up her power easily.” _She might not need to,_ Solona thought, the idea that formed in her head twisting her gut as surely as the concussion had. “Still, I would rather have her where we can watch her than actively working for Loghain.”

“But aren't we planning to depose her?” Solona sighed.

“Anora was a capable administrator for Cailan's lands, but she has not a drop of royal blood. We did not fight the Orlesians all those years just to lose our royal line in a single generation. Not when there's a surviving son of the blood.” Eamon glanced to Alistair and then back to Solona. “Get some rest Warden. You will be busy later. Regain your strength.”

She nodded and thanked him before he left and then she slumped again, not even realizing she had been holding herself so straight. Alistair grunted sarcastically and said, “So I'm guessing someone told Anora I was planning to steal her throne. She has a nasty glare.” Solona realized that they were alone, Wynne having slipped out after finishing her ministrations to allow the 'important' people to talk. She turned to look at him, his hand slipping from her forehead. The compress was no longer cold and she rubbed some magic into it to reapply it. She was already thinking clearer. “She want's to be queen, I get it,” he growled. “I don't trust her any more than her father, but I get it.”

“What do you think about her?” Solona asked cautiously, laying groundwork for the disgusting plan she had running through her head.

“They say that Anora is smart, determined... she's supposedly the one who's really ruled here, not Cailan. She's her father's daughter... Me, I say that's where the problem lies. People like her and her father always think they're the only ones who can fix things, so everyone should just stay out of their way... What do you think? When the Landsmeet comes, you might even have a say.”

“Why would they listen to me?” she asked, cocking her head and frowning.

He chuckled and traced a finger down her cheek. “I think they'll listen to a Grey Warden. One who just might save this country yet.” He paused as she flushed. Then he sighed. “You need to get some rest.”

“Wait.” she fished in the pouch for Irminric's ring. “While I'm out of comission, talk with Leliana and Zev, then take them to where all of the nobles are holed up and find his sister. Convince her to help us and tell her where he is. Then look for Bann Sighard and speak to him about where we found his son...” she took in a breath to continue and he covered her mouth with his hand.

He chuckled. “I was there, Sol. I know who to talk to and the information that Zev and Leliana have will likely give me more ideas for allies. I can handle this. You rest. I'll be back soon.” He took the ring and kissed her forehead gently then helped her lie down

 


	13. Unrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona must make some difficult decisions for the good of Ferelden.

She waited about an hour, the compress on her head, until she was convinced Alistair had left the estate. Then she threw the rag onto the table beside the bed and changed back into her own clothes, happy to be free of the heavy trappings. She sought Anora's room. She needed to have a very serious conversation with the queen that she was more than dreading. She didn't want it to be this way, but Anora was not going to back down quietly, and neither was she. With agreements and boundaries, Alistair was right. She might just save Ferelden from itself as well as the Darkspawn.

The queen greeted her a bit curtly, but Solona could see respect in her tone and stance. The respect of a queen. Solona really had moved up in the world. “Hello again, Warden. It is good that you came to speak with me. I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in the days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason. My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

Solona flushed. “I don't think I'm as important as you believe.”

“No? You're a Grey Warden, and despite the fact that my father will paint himself as the only one who can protect the country from the Blight it is not so. Secondly, you saved Arl Eamon from a plot that no doubt had its origins in Howe's sick little mind... People will not forget that. You are competent and powerful, and in the right place at the right time. Used to your advantage, these things could bring you far.”

“So you are proposing an alliance?” Solona asked, her heart beginning to race as she built herself up to ask the most difficult question she had even asked another human being.

“That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne,” Anora said with a gentle smile that Solona didn't believe was genuine for a second. “You will be seen as my father's enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot.”

Solona swallowed, her hands wringing as her confidence in her idea wavered. Then she glanced up at Anora and straightened her shoulders, getting control of her emotions. “Why not simply marry Alistair? The best of both worlds...”

Solona was proud to see that she threw Anora off her game. The woman balked, and her hands dropped to her sides, forgetting her poised stance. She stuttered only momentarily before regaining her composure. “Ignoring that the man looks so much like Cailan... my recently dead husband, if you'll recall... my main fear is that he might govern like Cailan as well. And are you so truly eager to pawn the lad off on me, anyway? I rather got the sense that you two might be...”

Solona narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. “You've never heard of a political marriage?”

Anora sighed. “That is how my own marriage to Cailan began. It still became more, in time. This doesn't bother you?”

“That's not your concern,” Solona snapped, hugging herself and backing off her threatening stance. Of course it bothered her. She was giving away her chance at ever marrying the man she loved. But in the back of her mind it had always been so. From the moment they first kissed, she knew that his blood would make it impossible for some fairy tale ending for them. She would take what she could get. Anora would understand. The question was, would Alistair?

“I see,” Anora scowled. “So be it, then. Alistair does have Theirin blood. It is the one thing I do not have, truth be told. A union might even be considered a compromise, but... is this something Alistair even desires?”

“I... think I could convince him,” she said, biting her lip.

“Let me say this. If Alistair is willing to stand back and allow me to continue governing the nation, then I would be willing to have him as my king. It is my understanding that governing does not appeal to him anyhow. If that is so, this is a compromise I can live with.” Anora said, boldly reaching out to place a comforting hand on Solona's fidgeting fingers.

“I will go speak with him, then,” Solona agreed, knowing she would have some time to think out her words before he returned from his mission.

“Do so. I will be interested to hear what he has to say,” Anora squeezed her hands and then let her leave.

Solona found her way to the guest room she had been given and climbed into the bed to bury her face in the pillow. The tears she had been choking down through out that entire conversation came then. She felt as if she had ripped out her own heart and allowed Shale to squish it. Barkspawn nosed his way in the door that in her rush she had left partially open and jumped into the bed with her. He laid beside her, whimpering and she hugged him tightly.

 

Eventually, she fell asleep. She awoke some hours later, Barkspawn still at her side. She rubbed at her burning eyes, sitting up and leaning over the side of the bed, her elbows on her knees. She yelped in surprise when Alistair's voice interrupted the silence. He pushed away from leaning on the bedpost and approached her, his arms crossed. “So I just saw Anora not long ago. Strange story. She gave me the strangest look, like she was sizing up whether the cow was ready for slaughter, I asked her why. You know what she said? 'It would be like marrying his twin.' I misheard that, right? Tell me I misheard.”

Solona stood up and went to him, her well thought out speech all but fluttering off in the heat of seeing his face as he pleaded with her to tell him a pretty lie. “You heard right,” she confessed.

“Marry her?” he stepped back and Solona nearly whimpered under the shattering of her heart in her chest. “As in marriage? As in be her husband? You've spoken to her about this? You did, didn't you? You... why would you do that?” his angry tone broke and his voice softened. “What about us?”

“This is a political arrangement, nothing more,” she bumbled lamely, her hands shaking and her voice unsure. She wanted nothing more than to scrub the entire idea now that it was staring her in the face.

The pure sadness on his face coupled with the sneer directed at his blood was agonizing and she hated herself. “All right. I'll accept that... for now. Why do you think I should do this, then?” he asked, suddenly in front of her and lifting her chin so she would look at him. Her tears were freely falling again and he arduously pried her arms from around her waist where she clutched her aching gut. “Tell me,” he said gently.

She drew in a ragged breath, sniffing and angrily brushing her tears away. She had cried enough. “I think... this is the best compromise for peace,” she confessed, her words halting and her throat raw.

“Compromise?” he asked, lifting her stubborn chin again. “Yes, I suppose the Landsmeet would like the sound of that...” He studied the determined set of her shoulders and sighed. “All right. You've convinced me. If it comes to that... I'll agree to marry her, Maker help us all.” He pulled Solona into his arms and kissed her hair. “I wish things could be different, my dear. I really do.” He pulled away to help her brush her tears from her cheeks and sighed again. “Go and tell her, if you think it's a good idea. Me, I think I need a drink. Or ten.”

Solona hung her head as he turned and left her. It had gone better than she thought, but worse than she'd hoped. She wasn't certain where she stood anymore. She felt like she had betrayed Alistair. She shuffled from her room after fixing her hair and allowing the redness in her eyes and cheeks to subside and headed for Anora's room. The woman was standing in the middle of the room and when she saw Solona approaching, she crossed her arms. “Well? Have you spoken to my lucky betrothed yet? Or will we be reduced to passing notes?” she asked sarcastically.

She told a half truth. “He's agreed to your terms.” They had not gotten around to her telling him that Anora wanted to hold the reins to the Kingdom.

“He has? I... wasn't expecting that, to tell you the truth.” She dipped her head. “To marry Cailan's brother... I suppose stranger things have happened. If it will truly help matters...” she sighed heavily. “And what of you, Warden? What will become of you once I am married?”

“What do you mean?” Solona asked. She had specified this was a political arrangement, hadn't she?

Anora pursed her lips. “Cailan had his women. He was thoughtful enough to keep them discreet, but I always knew. Am I to have yet another husband whose eyes lie elsewhere? If so, I would appreciate knowing now.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Solona assured her.

Anora flinched. “I see. Then all I wish is that you two do not embarrass me. That is, I think, not unfair to ask... Is this it, then? I agree to marry Alistair to retain my throne, and in exchange I give you my support? If not, then tell me now.”

Solona sighed. “Marry Alistair and you have my support.”

“Done,” Anora said heartlessly. Solona hoped in the days to come that Anora would at least learn to get along with her. She was not giving up Alistair that easily. “So we have a deal, Warden. I trust you'll keep your end of the bargain... now, I suppose, comes the task of dealing with my father. That will be no small feat, of course, but I am certain you already know this. I imagine you have much to do. Is there anything else you needed from me?”

“Solona,” she said quietly. “My name is Solona. We will be willfully sharing a man, the least we can do is be civil.”

Anora balked again, but smiled bitterly. “Of course. I suppose calling you Warden would get a bit... grating. Solona... good evening.”

Solona bowed shortly and backed out of the room, her heart racing. It was official. In three days when the Landsmeet began, she might well lose Alistair forever if he decided that he was not the type to have a wife and a mistress. She loved him more than anything, but the country needed him. She had seen his potential. He would be a fantastic king. One for the people. Alistair's suggestion of ten drinks was starting to sound very tempting.

 

The next morning, Riordan showed up, his wounds tended to and a fresh set of Warden armor gracing his lean figure. He was more than willing to answer every question Solona had and it made her feel like a true Warden when he called her sister. Pride swelled in her at being a part of something so much bigger than herself. She had not felt it since taking the Joining. If they survived this Blight she knew that rebuilding the Order was going to be her main goal. Being a Warden was her calling, as much as Wynne tried to shove her back into being a Circle mage.

“If you wouldn't mind,” she asked Riordan. “You mentioned a vault...”

He smiled and looked down at his fresh armor. “It's located just off the Market District, in the northern alley past the Gnawed Noble Tavern... I'll sketch out the code which will let you past the lock wheel. Inside, you can take your pick of whatever equipment remains. It is the stockpile the Wardens have kept for centuries for the defense of Denerim.”

“I appreciate it, Riordan,” she said, grinning.

“Ah, child, new Wardens like you make me feel like there is still hope for Thedas,” He took her hands and squeezed them before patting them and standing from his seat. “Now I must be off. I am well enough now that I can continue my journey toward Ostagar. Hopefully I will be able to trace the heart of the Blight and where the Archdemon itself abides. If we want to defeat this Archdemon, we need to know where it is and how soon it might strike.”

“Alone?” she asked in surprise.

“There are too few of us for it to be any other way. I will be in touch,” he promised.

 

Alistair was strangely quiet as they walked through the market district, but Solona couldn't blame him. He likely needed space to gather his thoughts and constantly reminding him of the situation was not going to make things easier. She knew for her that a distraction was key. They found the warehouse that Riordan had described and Solona followed his instructions to pop the lock on the hidden door. Inside, they found a dragon's hoard of Warden supplies, including new armor for both her and Alistair. There was only so much the blacksmith in Redcliffe could repair. Their armor had taken a beating over the months. While they changed, Zev and Leliana waited outside, keeping watch. With the disappearance of the Archdemon blood, it was obvious that Loghain knew the location of the vault and might think they would visit. Solona finished strapping on her final boot and began to wander around the small armory. A large armor stand caught her eye. The armor on it was of similar make to the gear Duncan had worn. She approached it and studied the chestplate and circled around the back. Mounted to the stand was a simple rectangular shield made of silverite emblazoned with the Warden's typical griffon heraldry, but the colors were altered. Solona frowned and touched fingers to the painted lines, wracking her brain to remember what city in Ferelden used those colors. “Maker,” she whispered and hefted the surprisingly light metal from the stand, recognizing Highever. She crossed the floor, slipping behind the curtain where Alistair was buckling a few loose straps on his legs and said excitedly. “Look at this.” She pushed the shield toward him as his face read surprise that she was smiling at him.

His eyes left her face to dip down to the shield and within seconds, he gasped, standing from the short stool he was sitting on and stepping forward to take it from her hands. “This... this shield. It's Duncan's, isn't it? That's his crest...” His eyes were sparkling and she wrung her hands together.

“I thought maybe you might want it,” she said, remembering a conversation they had before about him not having anything to remember Duncan by except his memories.

He looked up from the shield, the pained, yet grateful expression on his face almost too much to bear. “Thank you. Truly, I had no idea his shield wasn't with him. This is perfect... I don't know how else to express my gratitude. This...” he held up the shield. “means a great deal to me. I... can't believe you remembered it at all...” he let out a soft self deprecating chuckle as a tear slipped from his eye.

“Of course I remembered,” she scoffed, reaching out to grip his forearm, but pulling her hand back.

“I'll treasure this. Thank you...” he said, noticing her waffling hand. Before she could turn and leave him to finish dressing, he quickly set down the shield and grabbed her arm. He pulled her back to him and wrapped his arms around her, his body shuddering. She fell into him, treasuring the touch she hadn't felt since the previous afternoon. “I hate that it has come down to this, Sol... but I refuse to lose you... Not to Anora, not to anybody...” he whispered, his palm holding her head to his chest. His breath caught when she slid her arms around him as well, clutching him tightly.

They stood too long, neither of them speaking, simply holding each other. Finally, she sighed. “We should get to the Alienage...”

“Right! The war... silly me. I almost forgot.” She helped him with the last of his buckles and then laid her hand flat on the shiny, untarnished metal of his chest plate, smiling up at him.

“Are we... okay?” she asked tentatively.

He grinned, an expression she'd not seen in too long, and said, “Better. Now let's go meet some elves.”

He surprised her with a quick kiss and left the shield from Eamon in the vault, opting to carry Duncan's. They sealed the vault up tightly and left for the Alienage.

 

Crossing the bridge between the city and the Alienage was like entering another world. Where everything in the Market District was bright and lively, the slums were dingy and sullen. Several elves sat around near the edges of the streets, huddled against the walls of the buildings to block the cold air and begging for whatever anyone had to offer. Her small party was like a beacon in their fine clothes and carrying weapons that no city elf had ever even dreamed of seeing. Some children swarmed them and were shooed off by suspicious adults. The beggars stood up with great effort on their canes and walking sticks to shuffle to them, palms grasping. Solona felt horrible. These people deserved better. She fished in her purse and handed a silver to anyone who approached. There was so little she could do, but she did whatever she could. Hopefully when they got to the bottom of the unrest, things might get better. She noted Alistair pausing to grin and pick up a hoop that a small group of children had been batting along the street with sticks. He rolled it back to them as they cowered away from the strange humans in their midst.

They passed by a small one room hovel where a young red headed elf stood outside helping a mousy young woman hang laundry on a short line. She recognized the man from Howe's dungeon. He looked up from his task to see what the ruckus was in the street and noticed her as well. He smiled and handed the threadbare shirt he was holding to the woman and approached her. “It's you! I didn't thank you before, did I? I wish I could give you something. Everything I owned was lost to looters after the purge. Not that I had anything valuable to begin with,” he shrugged.

She shook her head. “I wouldn't accept anything. Can you tell me what's going on around here?” she asked, her gesture encompassing the Alienage.

He shrugged. “I suppose I got off easy in a way... I lived because I was in the dungeon. I missed Teryn Howe's purge and the plague both... Lucky me...” he sighed looking back at the woman who was watching them curiously. “I guess the plague's been pretty bad. I've seen a few sick people, myself, but by the time I got here it seemed to be under control. There are mages from Tevinter here, helping to treat it. But there's something odd going on though. My cousin, Shianni, could tell you more. You can't miss her, just look for the angriest woman in the Alienage.”

Solona frowned, glancing around for signs of templars. “The Chantry allowed foreign magic here?”

“I guess so. I'd expect templars here, otherwise,” he shrugged again.

She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “I should go.”

“I... know you've already done a lot for me, but... I have to ask... Could you talk to Shianni? Please, I... I don't know what's going on here, but I know she's in over her head,” he asked.

“I'll see what I can do,” Solona agreed with another smile.

“Really? I don't know what to say! Thank you! Maker bless you!” he grinned and turned back to the woman.

Solona rejoined the others and they headed further into the slums. When they came around a bend in the road, they were greeted by an amazingly well kept tree. If it had been hollowed out, at least five people could have stood in the trunk. It was decorated with fading paints in elven symbols and pictures. The Vhenadahl, the elves called it. Every Alienage had one to remind the city elves of their roots. It was a beautiful tree, and the most well preserved thing in the slums, including the people. Near the tree, there was a crowd gathered, many of the people shouting in outrage. Beyond the crowd was a building guarded by several mages dressed in distinctly Tevinter robes. Solona approached close enough to hear a woman's voice ringing above all of the rest. I've got children at home! I can't wait out here for another day!”

Another woman spoke up, even louder. She had fiery red hair and Solona could practically taste the anger seeping off of her. That must be Shianni. “So go home! The best thing you can do for your children is not trust these charlatans!”

One of the mages stepped forward, a sour look on his face. “Everyone remain calm. We will help as many as we can today, so long as we can do this in an orderly fashion.”

The red headed woman scoffed. “Oh, you're 'helping' us, are you, shem? Like Valendrian and my uncle Cyrion, you helped them, didn't you? Helped them never to be seen again!”

The mage sighed. “We've explained this to you before, girl. More whining will not persuade us to let you into the quarantine to carry plague back out to the Alienage.”

Another elf, a man, turned on the red head. “Quit trying to get us all killed, Shianni! Some of us have still got things to live for.”

She gritted her teeth and curled her fingers into fists. “If this spell of theirs works, why are half the people they quarantine perfectly healthy?”

Realizing that Shianni was not likely to give up, Solona moved closer and pitched her own voice. “There's a plague here?” Most of the beggers and those standing in this group looked healthy. Plague normally hit the weak and filthy first. It was strange.

The woman rounded on her and took in her appearance before snapping. “What's wrong, shem, did you get bored and decide to come watch the elves die of plague?” Before Solona could answer or protest, the woman's eyes narrowed. “Wait... Soris told me about you. You're the one who freed him from the dungeons. Those foreigners say they're here to help with our outbreak of plague. Funny thing, though, all the people they 'help' disappear.”

The woman who had been speaking when they first walked up shook her head sharply. “That's not true, and you know it, Shianni! Both my sisters got the Tevinter spell cast on them, and they're fine.”

“Where's your niece, then? And my uncle Cyrion? And Valendrian?” Shianni ranted.

“Where did this plague come from?” Solona asked.

“From the Blight. That's what they say, anyway. People started getting it after the refugees showed up from Ostagar, so I guess that makes sense. These men from Tevinter say their magic will prevent people from catching it. But it doesn't work if you're already ill. So they set up a quarantine. But many of the ones they quarantine aren't sick. One of them was our Hahren, Valendrian. And I don't know what we're going to do if we don't get him back.” Shianni explained.

Solona glanced at the mages milling around outside the quarantine. “I'll try talking to the healers.”

“You can try. Those guards mean business,” Shianni remarked as Solona and her people moved through the dense crowd of elves to get to the front.

When she broke through the front line, the mages reacted immediately. “I ask you to stand back. Some of these people are carrying the plague. The Alienage is not safe for visitors.”

“Is there some way I can help?” Solona asked, wondering if she might be able to con her way into the building for a closer look.

“That will not be necessary.”

Another of the mages spoke. “For your own safety we must ask you to leave now.”

It was clear she was getting nowhere from there, so she backed off, losing herself in the crowd. Then she slipped around the rear of the building where she bribed the elven man guarding the door to let her in. She and her people burst in the door and were met by a group of startled men in leather armor. Killing them was easy with the element of surprise, and Solona made her way to the desk in the far corner. Piles of coin sat on the table near a note that read, _Bring eight males and six females for the next shipment._ “Slavers,” she growled, picking up a key and opening up a door that led to another room.

Several cages stood in the room packed with elves. A young dark haired man pleaded. “Please, let us out, we aren't sick!” She quickly used the key to open the cages and the majority of the elves ran. The one who spoke sported a black eye and a relieved smile. “Thank you, friend.”

“Where's Valendrian?” she asked, wondering if the hahren was among those she had just freed.

The elf lowered his gaze. “They took him away already. Through the back alley. We don't know where, exactly.” She nodded her thanks and waved him to join the others in freedom.

They left the building the same way they had entered and there was only one unlocked door in the alley. They entered the apartments and the sight that greeted them was one that Solona hated to see. The single room living spaces that were huddled in the narrow hallways all had doors kicked in and there were only a few muffled cries and noises from inside any of them. The ill and the downtrodden were packed into these rooms, day in and day out and they called them home. While investigating, Solona happened across a small rag doll in an empty apartment. She knelt to pick it up, brushing dust from the worn fabric. It was stuffed with straw and stitched in several places where arms or legs had torn away and been reattached. It was missing one button eye and the other hung precariously from a single thread, beneath sparse hair made of frayed yarn. Someone had loved this doll for years. She held it to her chest, her heart breaking at the thought of it's owner growing up under the heel of some Tevinter slave owner, crying in the hold of some boat at the loss of her companion.

Alistair moved up beside her and gently took the doll from her hands. He straightened it's hair and gently tugged the thread until the button was no longer dangling. Then with a solemn look, he set it down on the straw mattress that laid on the floor in the corner, propped against the flat pillow. It flopped onto it's side and he tsked and readjusted it until it sat straight and proud. They exchanged a glance, his expression telling her his thoughts were the same as hers. “If we hurry, we might still find her,” he said optimistically.

Solona smiled briefly, but she knew that the odds were slim. It was likely that the Tevinters had pulled from the apartments first, before hitting the more well off elves. Maker knew how long Loghain had this operation going. They left the apartment, his hand on the small of her back, lingering in comfort. They ran into another elf, rummaging in a pile of things at the end of a hallway when Solona approached him, he jumped back and with a quivering voice he sputtered. “Stay away!”

She held her palms up in placation. “Calm down. I just want to ask some questions.”

“I can't say nothing. Please, just go. I don't want trouble,” he pleaded.

She took out her purse again and shook it. “Would some coin change your mind?” They had not run into anyone else just out in the open and she needed answers.

His eyes flicked wildly from the purse to her and then to her companions before he said, “All right... I saw them take everyone. Took them right out of their beds. Dragged them down the hallways. Maker, the little ones crying...” Solona flinched.

“Where?” she asked gently. “Where did they take everyone?”

“Through the landlord's old office. They go in there, they never come back,” he whimpered.

“What about Valendrian?” she asked.

The elf nodded emphatically. “I saw him. They marched him through the hall with a bunch of others. All tied together like pack mules.”

“What else have you seen?” she asked as he eyed the coin purse again.

“Every few days they come back. It's like a parade, a silent one. Men and women and children... You have to go. They'll be back soon. They'll find out I talked, and they'll take me, too! Please, just go!” he took the coins she offered him and ran off, leaving her even angrier.

They headed to the landlord's office where they killed a group of slavers and recovered a key that led them to the alleyway beyond. The ground was wet from the drainpipe to their right that spewed a foul smelling greenish liquid. Solona wrinkled her nose as they were stopped by a guard. He glanced momentarily at Zevran with a sleepy look and yawned. “What's this? Another shipment already? We weren't...” then he suddenly realized that Zev was not one of the elves from the Alienage and his sleepy eyes narrowed to a new sharpness. “Wait, you're no Tevinter,” he said taking in Solona's pale skin and Alistair's blonde hair and light eyes. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Who are _you_ supposed to be?” Solona mocked with a grin.

He turned to his companions that were apparently just as bored as he was, most of them sitting on barrels behind a fence in the shade of the buildings. “Quick, get them! Hurry!”

Solona quickly drew her staff and spun the butt of it upwards, connecting with his jaw and sending him flying backwards with the force of the swing. She had taken the time to carve several runes into the wood of the staff and Sandal had helpfully enchanted them, so every time she poured even the slightest bit of mana into the staff, it's physical damage was increased in spades. She was pleased with the outcome as the man hit the ground hard, a muffled snap telling her he had broken something on impact. The other guards were drawn by his shout and were scrambling to get themselves together. Leliana picked off two before they even picked up their weapons and Alistair rushed in to block the gap in the fence, creating a bottleneck. Solona rushed to his side and placed a glyph beneath the group of guards then grabbed Alistair by his collar and pulled him from the blast radius, igniting the glyph and setting fire to the remaining men. As they scattered in panic, Zevran and Leliana finished them off with arrows and daggers to the heart.

The door they had been guarding led into a workhouse. Just inside more resistance came in the form of an extremely peeved elven woman with strict features and a finely crafted bow on her back. She crossed her arms scowling at Solona and the others. “What is the meaning of this? We were told that there would be no interference from the authorities!”

Solona laughed out loud. “I'm not with the 'authorities'.”

“Oh? An errant group of dogooders, then? You will regret this, you know. Believe it or not, we have been given dispensation to do our business here. You Fereldens talk a great deal about how very wrong slavery is, but isn't it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcome such ideals?” The woman preached.

“You're an elf!” Solona spat, thinking of the doll left abandoned. “How can you be a part of this?”

The woman scoffed. “So I should feel kinship for these sheep? Don't be a fool. I am Tevinter first and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second, those are the things that matter.”

“You can't just take people from their homes and... and sell them! I'ts despicable!” Leliana said, her voice full of disgust and more shrill than Solona knew it could get.

“But enough. I am here to halt your slaughter, nothing more,” the woman said, swiping the air with a hand.

“Then step aside, or be my next victim!” Solona threatened, tapping her staff on the floor and sparking lightning at its tip.

The woman took a step back. “I am no fool. I can see that you are capable... So be it. I will let Caladrius deal with you while I fetch the Regent's men. I suggest you leave while you still can.”

Solona and her people barely budged to allow the woman and her people to exit. The icy stares between them all could have dusted a mountaintop. Solona's hands were shaking with the effort of restraint. When the door closed, she grunted and led them further into the warehouse. This 'Caladrius' couldn't be far. Solona could smell the magic wafting from the production area.

Only a few more Tevinters tried to stop them before they crossed into a large area that had been gutted of equipment and reoutfitted with cages that lined the walls. Each cage was full of elves while a man in fine Tevinter robes spoke with a couple of other Tevinters in the middle of the open room. He turned at their entrance, the door slamming closed behind them as Solona practically crackled in anger. He moved closer to the balcony where she stood overlooking the floor. He smiled amiably and cocked his head. “I am Caladrius. And you, I assume, must be the Grey Warden I've heard so much about.”

“You've heard of me?” Solona asked with mock surprise.

He chuckled. “One can hardly get a word out of Regent Loghain besides 'Warden' these days. It surpassed even 'gold' in popularity.”

“How _do_ you know Loghain?” she wondered, thinking she already knew the answer.

“Yes, you would be curious about that, wouldn't you? I have heard that you are trying to erode Loghain's support. It must be a difficult task, yes? Like washing away a mountain. Perhaps you could use some help,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh, this should be good,” she snorted eager for a good laugh, her arms crossing over her chest. With the day she'd had, she could use some entertainment.

“Sarcasm is beneath us both, my dear Warden.” She narrowed her eyes as he used the favorite nickname that Zevran had given her. “Truth be told, there was always a limit to how long we were going to be able to operate here. We've paid for many of Loghain's troops, but once the Landsmeet is done we become... inconvenient. So here is my offer... One hundred sovereigns from you for a letter with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren upon it, implicating him in all of this. Then we leave a few days earlier than planned, with our profits and remaining slaves, unharmed.”

Before she could say anything, Zevran spoke up. “I suggest you look those elves in the eyes before you agree to have them hauled off to slavery, my friend.”

Alistair groaned in disgust. “I feel dirty. We're not considering this, are we?”

She gaped at both of them before returning her neutral gaze to Caladrius. “So,” the Tevinter said. “Do we have a deal? Even you must admit it's much better than resorting to barbarism, yes?”

He absolutely did not know her. She could smell the blood magic on him a mile away. “If I accept help from you, how am I better than Loghain?”

“You're not,” he said with a shrug. “Did I say you were? I am simply hoping the world is... full of pragmatists, shall we say?”

“I have a counter offer,” she suggested.

“Interesting...” he said, his brow quirking.

She smirked, dropping her stance and silently signaling her companions behind her back. “My offer is this... I kill you and take everything for free.”

“Ahh, a comedian.” Caladrius sighed, taking his staff from the strap on his back. “Let's settle this the hard way, then.”

Solona immediately ducked below the handrail in front of her as the others split to cover the stairs to either side of the balcony. She prepared a string of spells, slipping the mana into her staff and mumbling a few casting words to power them. They were specifically designed to counter blood magic, protecting her and her companions from becoming Caladrius' source of fresh magic. When she felt safe, she vaulted the rail and landed on the ground about eight feet below. She rolled as she hit the ground, softening the impact on her feet and came up right in front of Caladrius who was beginning to realize he was being blocked. She swung her staff around, slamming into his gut and knocking him back he stumbled and she brought the staff back around, throwing an arcane bolt at his chest. He gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs and she began an onslaught of minor single hit spells, slinging tiny fireballs and shards of ice from the ends of her staff as she twisted it back and forth and around her fingers. Finally as he fell to his knees, clutching his gut, he cried out. “Enough. Enough!” She gave a sharp whistle and the activity around her ceased. The elves in the cages looked on in awe as she towered over their captor, her staff brandished threateningly. “It... seems your reputation is an accurate one. I surrender.” Solona was mildly ticked. She had been enjoying besting the mage from Tevinter.

“Perhaps you should be left to the mercies of these elves,” she growled pointing her staff toward the terrified prisoners.

“Wait! Hear me out, dear lady!” he begged, giving her momentary pause. “Were I to... use the life force of the remaining slaves here. I could... augment your physical health a great deal!” he offered in a last ditch effort. “Allow me to leave this place alive and I would be more than happy to do this little service for you.” Did he just call slaughtering a room full of slaves a little service? Solona seethed, barely hearing his last words. “So... is my offer of interest to you? Yes?”

“No, it isn't,” she shrieked as she saw him twitch.

Her eyes followed his movements as he spoke again. “Then... I don't suppose you would consider just letting me go?”

“No, I don't suppose I would...” she grunted, reinforcing her protective spells as he sighed.

“Ah. Well that is a shame, isn't it?” he moved to cast the spell he had been preparing and Solona flicked her staff upwards, connecting with his temple as she swung it to the side, her runes throwing him across the room to slam into the far wall with great force. As soon as he hit the ground, she hurled a fireball into him, his furry pauldrons catching fire and wreathing his bald head in flame. His remaining guards all fell as he attempted to save himself using their life forces in exchange, but Solona stopped him in his tracks with a fist of the Maker.

When he was dead, she stomped over to his corpse and found the keys that would unlock the cages while Leliana picked the lock on an ornate chest nearby. “I have the papers,” she announced as Solona unlocked each cage.

An older elf approached her, his hair white and his clothing slightly less ragged than most of the ones she'd seen in the Alienage. He rubbed his neck and looked her over. “You don't look like a Tevinter. Not that it means much. Are you one of them? What happens to us now?”

She forgave him the confusion as she noted the goose egg on his forehead. She smiled sweetly. “Are you Valendrian? Shianni was looking for you.”

“Shianni... did she send you here? Praise the Maker! We will not trespass long on your good graces. Come, everyone, let's go home,” he said, his eyes lighting up with his smile as he gathered all of his people and they shuffled out of the warehouse.

 

Solona was exhausted by the time they returned to Eamon's estate. She and Alistair headed to Eamon's sitting room where he was awaiting eagerly for their return. “Ah, there you are! I was about to send out a search party. I've been hearing of a great commotion in the Alienage. What exactly happened there?”

She pulled the papers from her armor and handed them to Eamon who immediately recognized the seal on them. “Proof that Loghain was involved in slave trading.”

Eamon sighed, rolling the scrolls back up. “Maker forgive me, I should be appalled that such a thing could exist here, but I'm overjoyed you can implicate Loghain. We must end the civil war quickly. What the Blight does not corrupt in this land, politics surely will. The last of our allies have arrived in the city. We cannot delay any longer. I will call for the Landsmeet to convene. Bring Alistair and join me at the palace as soon as you are ready, Warden.”

Eamon hurried out and Solona sighed. “So much for a good night's sleep to get us ready for this.”

Alistair's hands landed on her shoulders and slid down her arms. “Are you ready for what they're going to throw at you?”

“Not in the slightest... but it's you I'm worried about.” She leaned back into his chest. “Everything is going to fall on you.”

“I'm just going to be king. You still have armies to lead, my dear,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don't remind me,” she grunted.

“Why don't we clean up and give the nobles enough time to start arguing amongst themselves. Maybe they won't even see us come in,” he joked.

 

For once, the estate was nearly deserted. Everyone important had gone to the palace in some capacity or another and Solona slipped into the large metal tub into Alistair's arms, the scalding water instantly turning her skin blood red. She didn't complain. It felt wondrous on her aching body. She had taken a few beatings in the last couple of days and the relaxing bath was exactly what she needed. Alistair's hands rubbed her shoulders and back, working out all of the knots in her muscles with the ease of familiarity. As he pressed the heel of his hand into a particularly large point of contention where her right shoulder met her neck, she hummed a sigh of relief. When he leaned in and kissed the offending spot, she giggled. “I'm naming that one Anora.”

“Suitable,” he said with a chuckle. “It's a huge pain in the neck.”

She snorted and flicked water from her fingertips on him as he grinned. “We shouldn't take too long,” she sighed, turning her neck to accept a short kiss from him. “Eamon is expecting us.”

“At least our armor is relatively clean,” he mused, glancing over at their clothes, propped on the bench at the foot of her bed.

“Thanks to Riordan for letting us know about that vault,” she agreed. She pulled away from him and stood, the water dripping off of her as she gingerly climbed out and reached for a towel. She turned as she wrapped in the soft fabric and caught him watching her with a roguish smile. Water pooled at her feet as her hands fell on her hips and she smirked. “See something you like?”

He cleared his throat as her eyes dipped below the pristine water. “Several things,” he said.

“Well, put that away and get dressed. We need to go,” she teased with a giggle, throwing his towel onto his head to block his view. Then she turned and began dressing. She heard the water slosh as he got out of the tub and feigned disinterest as she watched covertly in the mirror on the opposite wall. She bit her lip, greatly wishing they had no where else to be. She could have sat for hours with him in that tub.

When he reached her side and saw where she was looking he chuckled. “You were cheating, you minx.” He took her by the arms and turned her to face him. “You are going to pay for that later.” He leaned in and kissed her deeply, with the promise lingering on her lips even after he pulled away.

It felt wrong to be putting clothing on when they were so very alone. She fumbled with her belt after pulling her leathers on and then she pulled her hauberk on, cinching her potion belt around her waist over top. She sat and pulled on her boots, as he strutted across the room shirtless to pick up the gloves he'd discarded on a night table near the entry. “Oh for Maker's sake,” she grumbled as he bent to pick up their towels from the floor. “Put your shirt on, you tease.”

“Me?” he asked with a grin as he touched his fingertips dramatically to his chest. “I don't know what you mean.”

She flicked a current of magic at him, making his hair stand on end and he laughed before grudgingly putting his shirt on and then the rest of his armor. After helping his with his buckles, she straightened the mussed hair and smiled. “You look like a king.”

He snorted. “One that needs his lover to help dress him and fix his hair. Next you'll be licking your thumb and rubbing food stains off my chin.”

“Isn't that how King Maric met your mother?” she asked jokingly.

“Har har,” he playfully pushed her away and tapped her rear to get her out the door. “Such rapier wit.” He picked up her staff and tossed it to her then picked up his own weapons. “Let's go finish this.”

 

As she and all of her companions walked to the palace, the evening breeze poured over her skin. She realized she was nervous. Her stomach fluttered and her palms were sweating. The giant palace loomed over head as they climbed the stairs to the entrance. Shale's heavy footsteps made her cringe with every thump while Barkspawn hovered close to her legs, sensing her unease. No one spoke the entire trek through the city and the lump in Solona's chest was growing larger.

Just inside the doors, she groaned as her eyes adjusted to the dim firelight and she saw Loghain's right hand woman barring their way. “Warden. I am not surprised it has come to this. And Alistair,” her eyes fell on him, shooting daggers. “If you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn't you?” She looked back at Solona and raised an accusing finger. “You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom. But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest. Once you are gone.”

This woman had the chance to kill her and Alistair both back in the Arl's estate. She opted for prison. Solona cocked her head in symathy. “Do you really not see what Loghain has become?”

The first signs of doubt trickled over her expression as she said, “I am aware he has changed... It has been difficult for him to realize his own countrymen would turn against him. I'm not surprised he is bitter. But he is still a great man. One of the best Ferelden has seen.”

“Would a great man allow Arl Howe to torture his subjects?” she wondered.

“You think war is simple, don't you, Warden? You only fight monsters. No one sheds a tear over the death of an ogre. Torture is an ugly business. But sometimes it's the only way to learn what your enemy intends. And it is much harder to tell who the enemy is when all of them look like you.” She was not making excuses. She truly believed these things she was saying.

“To support his war, he's sold his own people into slavery,” Solona pointed out, the sting of the Alienage still fresh.

“What was he supposed to do? You and Eamon, you were harassing him at every side, forcing him to empty the treasury to fight you. He never wanted a civil war. After Cailan died, everyone was supposed to rally, come together to fight the Darkspawn without crying to Orlais for aid. He never anticipated Maric's bastard would challenge the throne and force this war,” she said, spitting the word bastard like it was poison.

“How can you support the man who killed your king?” Solona sighed pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Fine,” she spat. “You're right! What would you have me say, Warden? Loghain is a great man, but his hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness.” She sighed. “He has done terrible things, I know it, but I owe him everything. I cannot betray him, do not ask me to!”

Solona stepped toward her. “Then let _me_ stop him. You know it's the only way.”

Cauthrien hung her head and stepped to the side. “I wish I had died at Ostagar rather than live to see this moment. Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he once loved. Please...” she dropped to a knee. “Show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend.”

Solona and the others passed by the humbled warrior, her eyes glued to the floor as they passed, sadness on her features. Solona gently pushed the door open, hoping they could slip in and get a feel for the crowd before they were noticed. Eamon was speaking, having changed into a set of formal armor that suited his station. Several of the other Banns, Arls and Teyrns were also armed and armored and the rest of the lesser nobility were draped in fine silks and satins from Orlais and Antiva. Solona felt over dressed for her station, but Alistair fit right in, his shining new armor a beacon. “My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

Several positive exclamations rose for Eamon's words. Over the small din, a loud clapping resounded of two gauntleted palms coming together. “A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it,” Loghain said moving from the dais near the back of the room to stand front and center, flanked by countless guards. “You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, 'who will pull the strings'?” Loghain glanced around as silence fell over the hall, broken only by a few gasps as Solona and Alistair entered together, parting the sea of nobles to stand before Loghain. “AH! And here we have the puppeteer! Tell us Warden, How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would be prince? What did they offer you? How much is the price of Ferelden Honor now?”

“The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!” Solona said, pitching her voice to carry over the entire hall.

A woman stepped forward and smiled down at Alistair. Solona recognized the ring from the Templar in Howe's dungeon shining on her finger and she leaned over the rail on the balcony she shared with several other Banns. “There are enough refugees in my Bannorn now to make that abundantly clear.”

“The South is fallen Loghain! Will you let Darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?” An older man said from the same balcony. Solona recognized his crest as that of West Hills.

“The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?” Loghain asked, looking every bit the sane person as he tried to convince those around him that Solona and Alistair were the enemies. “They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the Darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of Chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to return from whence they came?”

In spite of the two guards who had placed themselves between her and Loghain, Solona still addressed him boldly. “You allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents!”

“The Warden speaks truly!” A man not dressed in armor, but in a simple red doublet with a pin from Dragon's Peak, said loudly. He stood beside Bann Alfstanna. “My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him... some of them are beyond any healer's skill!”

Loghain thrust out his arms in defense. “Howe was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all. But you know that. You were the one who murdered him,” he accused, glaring at Solona. “Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home.”

She snorted. “No? Then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?” she clapped back, drawing shocked gasps from the crowd.

“I assure you, Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate,” Loghain said loudly.

“Indeed?” Bann Alfstanna said. “My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?”

Denerim's Revered Mother added her outrage. “Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a Templar's sacred duties is an offense against the Maker.”

Loghain spun on Solona. “Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter.”

“What have I done? I have protected her from you!” Solona accused, wondering exactly where Anora was anyhow.

“You took my daughter, our queen, by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?” he asked gruffly.

“I believe I can speak for myself!” Anora said loudly, appearing from a door to the right of the dais. She stepped up onto the dais and stood tall and proper, her voice ringing out perfectly on the silence that followed the gasps of shock at her entrance. Loghain turned to look at her and she glared at him. “Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed, if not for this Grey Warden.”

“The queen speaks the truth!” Solona agreed with a nod to Anora. She had upheld her end of the bargain gracefully.

Loghain hung his head. “So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora? I wanted to protect you from this. My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It's been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldens have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself,” Loghain pleaded, his arms upraised as he addressed the assembled leaders.

The Arl of Denerim's son whom they'd released from Howe's dungeon was the first to speak. “The Warden! I'm with the Warden!” The votes flowed in like rapid fire.

“South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens.”

“Waking Sea stands with the Grey Warden!”

“Dragon's Peak supports the Warden!”

“The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens. Maker help us.”

One of the lesser nobles, an older bald man, who had earned a spot on the balcony stepped forward. Solona could not recognize his heraldry, but she immediately did not like his voice as he spoke. “I stand by Loghain! We've no hope of victory otherwise.” _Git,_ she thought.

One final vote came from below. “I stand with the Warden! The Blight is coming, we need the Grey Wardens!”

As the hall fell silent, Solona spoke up. “The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully.”

Instead of taking her offer of mercy, he spun and faced the crowd, clenching his fists in front of him. “Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian Emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?” He turned to Eamon. “You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!” he snarled.

Solona sighed. “Call off your men and we'll settle this honorably,” she suggested.

Then his expression softened slightly and he looked at Solona. “Then let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would come to this. A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me. Enough. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel.”

Alfstanna stepped forward. “It shall be fought according to tradition. A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome.”

“Will you face me yourself, or have you a Champion?” Loghain asked of Solona.

She stepped to the side, reaching for her staff, but Alistair's hand wrapped around her arm and when she looked at him, there was vengeance in his eyes. He gave a short shake of his head and she cocked her own in question. His eyes pleaded with her and she loosened her muscles and stepped aside. “Alistair is my Champion.”

Loghain grinned maniacally. “Then let us test the mettle of our would be king. Prepare yourself.”

The crowd around the dais cleared, leaving a wide open area for the two swordsmen to clash. They circled each other until they had switched places, each of them watching their opponents footsteps carefully and sizing them up. Loghain drew his sword first, the blade slipping from it's sheath with a hiss of well oiled metal against metal. Alistair pulled Maric's blade from it's custom sheathe and the runes glowed softly in the well lit hall. Loghain recognized the blade immediately and his face twisted in hurt and anger. Alistair's lip twitched in a grin as he realized he had thrown his opponent simply with the choice of weapons. He slipped his shield from his back and onto his forearm and took his stance. Loghain mirrored him. The next few moments were the most tense in Solona's life as the two men squared off. It started slowly on Alistair's side as he parried and blocked Loghain's rage fueled attacks. He was allowing the older man to wear himself out while he conserved his strength. Leliana's hand found Solona's, helping it to stop trembling as she watched the duel unfold. When finally Alistair countered a blow, the clashing metal rang out, echoing through the tall ceilings of the hall. Solona cringed and Leliana squeezed her hand. Maric's blade hummed as it vibrated with each blow. Alistair backed Loghain down the plush carpet that lined the middle of the hall from door to dais, his voice clear as he grunted with the effort.

Loghain attempted a counter, but Alistair's shield lifted, blocking the blow. Then he shifted the sword in Loghain's hand, using the shield to turn the blade aside and simultaneously push Loghain back, gaining more ground so he was now backed into a corner. Loghain lashed out, uttering a fierce war cry before slamming his sword again and again onto Alistair's shield and turning them around to give himself the advantage. Alistair took a step to the side and used his shield to roll under Loghain's defenses and got to his feet before Loghain could turn around in his heavy plate armor. He slammed Loghain with his shield and the man stumbled, dropping to a knee, his sword arm falling as Alistair's sword flashed into the mix and cut through a soft spot in his armor and bled him deep. Loghain cried out and remained on his knee. He panted and his shield lowered. “So there is some of Maric in you after all. Good.”

“Forget Maric,” Alistair growled as the crowd began to ease closer. “This is for Duncan!”

He hefted his sword and with a silent swing, he sheared Loghain's head from his body. A spray of blood flew from his torso and from the end of Alistair's blade, showering Anora who held up her arm to shield her face almost too late. She gasped, as the spray settled and turned to gape at the body of her father. Then without heed of her fine clothes, she dropped to her knees to rest her forehead on his chest and sobbed softly, the spreading blood seeping into her dress.

Eamon pounced on the silence. “So it is decided. Alistair will take his father's throne.”

Alistair looked up, the hatred fading from his face to be replaced by confusion. “Wait, what? No! When did this get decided? Nobody's decided that, have they?”

He glanced around the room and in his moment of question, the grieving Anora stood swiftly with puffy eyes and a blood stained dress. “So much for our plan to rule together. If Alistair would rather not have the throne, I am more than willing to take it.”

Solona glanced between the two of them, scowling at each other and sighed as Eamon spoke again. “I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora. Warden, will you help us?”

 _Who, me?_ Solona looked up as all eyes fell on her. She cleared her throat and said with more certainty than she felt. “Yes, I can settle this.”

Eamon smiled. “As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?”

“I believe Alistair and Anora plan to marry and rule jointly,” Solona said, maybe too softly, but as she watched the two of them, she realized that the plan was falling to pieces.

“Plans change,” Anora said, confirming her hunch. “Nothing could convince me to marry my father's murderer.”

Solona could see the 'good riddance' written all over Alistair's face and then the shock as she made her decision. “Alistair will take the throne himself, then.”

He mumbled, fear and doubt all over his face. “This is where I wake up, usually. Or everyone points and laughs because I have no clothes on...” he sighed deeply, closing his eyes as if he expected this to actually be a dream. When he opened his eyes to the real world, they were wild and disappointed.

Eamon spoke. “Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our king and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs.”

Anora drew herself to full height. “If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me.”

“Anora, be reasonable,” Solona pleaded.

“Reason clearly had nothing to do with your choice, _Warden_ ,” she spat.

“We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war. We must have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all,” Eamon said sadly.

Alistair looked up, his expression still shocked, but he answered reasonably. “Put her in the tower for now. If I fall against the Blight, then she can have her throne. If not... then we'll see.”

“You would give me a chance for the throne after all this?” Anora asked, her own shock marveling his.

“I said if I fall, Anora. If I fall, the throne falls to you. I won't kill you while there's a chance that can happen. Somebody has to treat this Blight seriously,” he spat.

“That is uncharacteristically wise of you,” she said. Solona glared. What did she know of him? Solona was suddenly acutely glad that he hadn't been sucked into a political marriage to Anora.

“Yes, well, don't let it get around. I have a reputation,” he sneered.

“Very well then,” Eamon sighed. “Guards, take her away.” After Anora was carted off and a sheet draped over Loghain's corpse, Eamon caught Alistair's attention from whatever it was focused on inside his head. “Your Highness, would you address the Landsmeet?”

“Oh... that would be me. Right.” He moved to the center of the dais and cleared his throat to pitch his voice. “Um... I never knew him, but from all I've heard of my father, what defined him was his commitment to protecting this land... I may be Maric's son, but I am also a Grey Warden. I took an oath. I swore I would stand and fight the Darkspawn, no matter the cost to myself. I can't break that oath just to wear the crown. I have to go with my fellow Warden to face the Blight. When the Blight is over, I'll come back and take up my duties... whatever they are... as king. Until then, I think Arl Eamon will have to be my regent.”

He glanced at Eamon who bowed low. “Then I can do Maric's memory no less honor than you do. I accept... And may the Maker bless your efforts against the Darkspawn.”

Then Alistair looked at her. “My fellow Grey Warden will, I hope, take Loghain's place as the leader of my armies. Shall we finish this thing together?”

She gaped, but collected herself quickly and bowed. “I could do no less, my king.”

“Everyone, get ready to march. It's going to take all of Ferelden's strength to survive this Blight!” Alistair called over the cheering of the crowd. “But we'll face it. And we'll defeat it!” Then his voice lowered as the crowd shouted its excitement and he looked at her again. “We'd better get going. Ferelden is depending on us.”

 

She and the others made their way back to Eamon's estate, most of her companions talking amiably amongst each other, a drastic contrast to the nervous silence of the trip over. Solona walked near the rear by herself. Alistair had been stopped by Eamon before they left and he was not there to yell at her, or do whatever it was that his expression had been suggesting each time he looked at her after she had named him king. She kicked a stone, mindlessly chasing it as she followed after her friends' voices. They made it back to the estate and Wynne helpfully lit a fire in the dining hall and they all sat down around the table many of them too excited to even think about turning in. Solona joined them, sitting near the fire to fight the chill in her gut. About twenty minutes later, Alistair pushed through the door and everyone went quiet as his eyes singled her out. “We... need to talk.”

She stood up from her chair, her face flushed as everyone watched her exit, him following after. They went in silence to her room where they had shared a relaxing bath only hours ago. Now the room was icy and she quickly ignited the fireplace before moving to stand in front of it, her arms crossed as she waited for the onslaught.

“I'm not going to question why you made me king,” he began malicious sadness marking his tone. “I even think I'm starting to come around to the idea, anyhow... it could be an interesting future for me. But...” there it was. She cringed and he plowed onward. “being king, that raises some questions about us. About you and me.”

With Anora in the picture, they had figured things out. Now, everything was different. Not everyone was Anora. Someone else might not understand. Solona felt tears burning to escape but she swallowed them and sniffed. “I thought you were in love with me?” she whispered softly, unable to bring her voice to full volume without it wavering.

“I am,” he insisted moving closer. “But this is all I can think about since the Landsmeet. First, there's the fact that both you and I are Grey Wardens. It's not just a question of obligation, but of blood. You know that Grey Wardens don't usually live to become old, right?”

“Yes, I'm aware of that,” she said dully.

“As king, I'll be required to have a child. Even more so because my death is assured. That's assuming that someone with the taint can or even should have a child...” he sighed.

“Don't Grey Wardens have children?” she asked, unable to bring herself to look away from the flames of the fireplace as they heated the room.

“Not with each other,” he informed her. “Even one parent having tainted blood means having children is not recommended. All the Grey Wardens I know with children had them before they joined the Order,” he explained. “I will need to find a wife, one who can bear a child. Who will live to raise it. I don't relish it, but... I will have a duty as the king.” He paused, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him while he was dumping her. He sighed softly. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible. But... I have to face what this means. I can't run away from it anymore.”

Suddenly, she spun on him, the threatening tears leaking out. “Nobody can force the king to do anything he doesn't want to do.”

He balked as she bore down on him in fear and anger. To his credit, he did not rise to her bait. “You mean... marry who I want? Carry on with whomever I want? You don't think that would be very unfair? To my wife as well as you?” he asked gently, moving closer to brush her hair from her face.

“Being king is not a punishment, Alistair,” she whimpered, leaning into his touch.

He looked shocked.”You're right. Of course you're right.” His expression turned desperate. “Damn them all, anyhow. If they want to make me king, then... then I'll be king. And I'll do exactly what I want to do.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her close. She sobbed in relief. “I feel like such an idiot for bringing this up, now. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I can,” she whimpered, her arms folded up against his chest. She had been so terrified she had lost him that her hands were still trembling. They had been since the duel.

He pushed her away, his hands remaining on her upper arms until she was arms length away, then he slid them down and took her hands, his eyes apologetically sorrowful for having made her suffer. “Good. Then let's forget about it.”

She nodded and he pulled her after him toward the bed. They helped each other out of their armor and he climbed into the bed beside her, covering them both with the thick quilt. She pressed her back into him, ecstatic to even have him there. She had been so close to disaster that she may have thrown herself at the Archdemon just to escape her misery. She could scarcely believe they were so near the end.

“What are you thinking about?” he mumbled as his arms held her against him. “You're quiet.”

“It's almost been a year since we met,” she said, counting back the months they'd spent on the road, tirelessly fighting. When the Blight was over, it would be good to relax for a while.

He exhaled a hum into her ear. “Has it been that long?.. I never thought in my wildest dreams that the pretty young recruit that approached me in Ostagar would come to mean such a great deal to me.”

“I'm glad I did,” she said with a grin and huddled closer to him.

He sighed. “Arl Eamon has left for Redcliffe. He says the army has gathered there and is almost ready to march. I think in the morning, we should head to Redcliffe ourselves. The Blight awaits, right?”

“Look at you taking charge,” she teased, mildly impressed.

“Hey, you're still the general,” he reminded her.

“A mage general...” she said with a yawn. “Shouldn't that be an oxymoron?”

He snorted lightly. “Well then it is suitable. Good night, Sol.”

“No nightmares, please,” she mumbled as her eyes fluttered shut.

“I'll be right here. Always,” he promised.

 


	14. Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning to Redcliffe, Riordan has a disturbing tidbit of information. And the fight for Ferelden begins.

Alistair and Solona's relationship returned to whatever semblance of normal they had shared before Denerim. With Anora out of the picture and the Blight looming, Alistair's future duties were far off things. They fought side by side, laughter always a quip away. Redcliffe was minutes away when Solona began to smell smoke. She turned to Alistair who was still laughing from the conversation they had been having with Zevran. “Do you feel that?”

He paused, as the smoke on the air became more prominent with the blowing winds, and the taint of the Darkspawn pressed in around her. “Darkspawn,” he shuddered. “This close to the city?”

They gathered their people, Bodhan and his son agreeing to stay with their packs while they investigated. When they approached the bridge into the city, the wheel house along the edge of the cliff was on fire, along with an overturned cart. “Shit,” Solona cursed, summoning a blast of air to staunch the blazes.

Jogging ahead to the bridge, she found a frightened man at the crossing to the castle where the road split to go up to the castle, or down into the village. When he spotted them, he stood from his hiding place and ran to them. “It's... it's you! The Grey Warden! Andraste's mercy that you got here when you did! I thought for sure these monsters were going to get me!”

“When did the Darkspawn get here?” she asked urgently, feeling a huge gathering of the beasts in the village.

“Just a few hours ago, not that long after everyone was evacuated to the castle. I thought I could make it to my home and back before they got here, but it took me too long to get down here. What a relief you arrived!” he sighed.

“You should get to safety,” she insisted.

“I'm going to get out of here before any more of those things arrive! Thank you again!! He ran off toward the road, telling her that he had been hiding because the Darkspawn had made it to the castle where the people had been evacuated to.

“We need to clear the village and see if there is anyone else still outside the castle,” Solona said, palming her staff and beginning to slowly spin it in her grasp. It took them hours to sweep the entire village, but Solona reveled in dropping the two ogres that were making a mess of what was left of the buildings that an emissary had set on fire. She, Wynne and Morrigan did their best to clear any fires they came across, but they found no villagers left. There were no bodies either to Solona's relief. Everyone had apparently made it to the castle.

That was where they headed next, back up to the crossing and over the bridge. The courtyard in front of the castle doors was flooded with Darkspawn, the pull of magic signaling an emissary. Solona sought out the emissary and began countering it's efforts. Some of the Arl's men were already at the castle doors fighting back against the horde. Solona's group turned the tides, rolling over the Darkspawn from the rear. They were about to make it to the doors when Solona's attention was drawn to the gates, the taint warning her. Alistair also looked up from the Hurlock he had knocked to the ground and his eyes bulged. They both spurred to action, abandoning the Darkspawn they were fighting to engage the ogre that was charging through the gates, it's great hulking body slamming into the iron and stone as it squeezed through the tunnel over the drawbridge. “By the void!” Solona gasped at the sheer size of the monster.

“Is that an Alpha?” Alistair gaped.

“Whatever it is, it's dead,” Solona growled, summoning fire to her palm. She channeled the flames through her staff and pointed the head at the ogre as it broke free of the tunnel and stood at it's full height. The blast slammed into the ogre's chest, drawing it's attention to them alone. “Ready?” she asked with a grin.

“Always,” He spun his sword and clanged it against his shield to throw off the ogre's attention as Solona prepared a winter's grasp. She unleashed the spell, slowing the ogre to a crawl as it growled angrily. Then she blasted it with a flurry of tiny fireballs pushed through a glyph in the air before her, aiming for it's eyes. As it shook, blinded by her spells, Alistair circled around to it's back. She summoned her spirit arms and grabbed hold of it to steady it, seeing in his eyes, his plan of attack. As the ogre fell to it's knees under the weight of her spell as she knelt to pull it to the ground, Alistair stepped up on it's foot and grabbed hold of one of it's makeshift metal vambraces.

“Hurry,” she grunted, the ogre fighting her every step of the way. “I can't hold it forever.”

Alistair swung up and stabbed his sword into the ogre's chest where it's heart should be. The magic in the blade forced an agonized cry from the ogre. Solona felt a surge of energy as it weakened and she yanked her arms further down. Alistair used his momentum to pull himself up, yanking the sword free and landing on the ogre's shoulders. Then his sword found the thing's brain and it fell beneath him. He jumped down to rejoin her and they moved to help finish off the rest of the group in the courtyard.

When the last Darkspawn fell, she jogged up the stairs and one of the soldiers greeted her. “My lady! You're here! Thank goodness!” he gasped with a short bow.

“Did the Darkspawn get into the castle?” she asked as a few guards ran past her to close the portcullis and lift the drawbridge.

“Some did, yes, but we were able to beat them back to the courtyard,” he reported. “I was told to watch for your arrival, Warden. Your comrade, Riordan arrived just ahead of the Darkspawn attack. He has urgent news for you!”

“Riordan? What's he doing here?” she wondered, as she and Alistair exchanged glances.

“I don't rightly know. Things happened so fast, I only know he was scouting in the south before he arrived,” the soldier admitted.

“Take me to him,” she ordered, eager to hear his news.

The guard led them to the great hall where Riordan greeted them with a concerned smile. “It's a relief to see you unharmed. And you as well, Alistair... or should I say your Majesty?”

Alistair shook his head and cringed. “Err... no. No, I wouldn't say that. Not yet, anyway.”

Riordan nodded his head and then addressed the hall. “The Darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I'm afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction... but that is not true.”

“Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim. They are perhaps eight days away from the capital,” Eamon added.

“What?” Alistair shouted. “Are we sure about that? I mean... if that's true...”

Riordan added his calm tone to the debate. “I ventured close enough to 'listen in', as it were. I am quite certain.”

“Why did we think they were headed here?” Solona asked curiously.

“The Darkspawn line is wide,” Riordan explained. “and many of them roam away from the main horde. Until now, most of them have been spotted here in the west.”

“Not to mention that we've been too busy killing each other to pay attention to some silly old Darkspawn horde,” Alistair said bitterly.

“There is, I'm afraid one other piece of news that is of even greater concern,” Riordan sighed, turning to face the fire. “The Archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde.”

“Maker preserve us,” Teagan whispered as Solona's own gut flipped in terror.

“But we can't reach Denerim in eight days, can we? It's too far,” Alistair worried.

Eamon grunted. “We will begin a forced march to the capital immediately, with what we have. Denerim must be defended at all costs.”

“I agree,” Solona added. “We've collected an army... let's use it.”

“The Horde must be defeated,” Riordan agreed. “But the Archdemon is our true target. And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the Archdemon. That is why we must go.”

“Then we march,” Alistair said with determination. “and hope the army we've collected here gives us the chance we need. Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?”

“By daybreak...” Eamon assured them.

“Then let's get them ready. I won't let all those people die without giving them a chance,” Alistair ordered.

Solona agreed with a nod, beaming at Alistair as his potential peeked out again, laid bare for all to see. “I will give the orders at once,” Eamon said. “and will notify you the moment we are ready to march.”

“That would be appreciated,” Alistair said, lowering his head.

“Then if you and Alistair could meet me before you retire, we have Grey Warden business to discuss,” Riordan said gently to Solona.

“I will have someone show you to your rooms. I suggest you all get some rest, while you can. We will need it,” Eamon said with a smile.

After she was shown to her room, which was the same one she'd been given before, Solona ventured out to find Riordan. She nearly got lost before she found his room. Alistair was standing outside. “There you are. Let's go see what Riordan has to say.”

He led her into the room, his hand discreetly on the small of her back. “You are both here, good.” Riordan said by way of greeting. “You are new to the Grey Wardens, and you may not have been told how an Archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so.”

She and Alistair exchanged glances and he frowned. “You mean there's more to it than just, say, chopping off it's head?”

Riordan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So it's true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed...” he looked sorrowfully between both of them, making Solona's stomach knot up. “Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the Darkspawn?” he asked.

“I assume it has something to do with the taint in us,” Solona shrugged, crossing her arms over her stomach as a feeling of dread passed over her.

“That is exactly what it involves,” Riordan said with a nod. “The Archdemon may be slain as any other Darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest Darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal... But if the Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden... it's essence travels into the Grey Warden, instead.”

“That doesn't sound very healthy,” Solona quipped with a nervous laugh.

“A Darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed... and so is the Grey Warden,” Riordan explained.

A choked sound came from Alistair and he began to pace. “Meaning... the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon... dies?”

“Yes,” Riordan nodded slowly. “Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way.”

Before Alistair could say anything stupid, she boldly stepped up. “Then I will take the final blow myself.”

A strangled protest from Alistair was interrupted by Riordan. “It warms my heart to see such courage, but do not hurry so to sacrifice your life,” he chided with a smile. “If possible, the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls on you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that... But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.”

With a pointed look at Solona, Alistair headed for the door. “I will see you once the army is ready to march, then. I guess this ends soon, one way or another.”

“That it does, my friend, that it does,” Riordan nodded and patted Alistair's shoulder as he passed.

Solona timidly followed Alistair from the room and back down the hall, still hugging herself against a chill that she couldn't shake. When they got to the end of the hallway, Alistair stopped and wheeled on her. “How could you...?”

She put a hand on his chest to stop the argument before it began. She smiled up at him and he crumbled. “Do you really think I would let you kill yourself for me?”

“Is that because I'm going to be king?” he snapped.

“That is the last on a very long list of reasons,” she said, gently. “Number one of which... if you die, I don't think I'd be able to live with myself knowing I could have given myself to save you.”

He gave her a sweet look and brushed her hair from her face. “What makes you think I want to live without you, hmm?” he asked with a wry chuckle.

“I don't want to think about it,” she sighed, moving into the circle of his arms. Then she pulled away and reached up to drag her knuckles lightly over his cheek. “You've got stubble.”

He chuckled and leaned into her touch. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do,” she smiled and then dropped her arm. “I... I need some time.”

His shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she pulled away from him to tuck her shaking hands under her arms. “Whatever you need, my dear.”

She turned and headed back toward her room, leaving him to his quarters down the hall. When she stepped up to the wooden door, she noticed it was opened a crack and there was a fire burning in the hearth. She pushed open the door, magic ready at her fingertips, just in case. She dropped her hand as she found Morrigan standing before the blaze, her arms crossed and looking thoughtful. When the door creaked, Morrigan looked up but did not face her. “Do not be alarmed. It is only I.”

Solona closed the door and sighed. “Morrigan? Is everything all right?”

“I am well. 'Tis you who are in danger,” Morrigan said knowingly. She cocked her head to face Solona, her body following as she spoke. “I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.” She paced slowly toward Solona, explaining herself. “I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be.”

Solona frowned, wondering how Morrigan was privy to such information, although it didn't matter much if she could help. “Does not need to be? What do you mean?” she asked desperately, her stomach fluttering in hope as she met Morrigan in the middle of the room.

“I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual... performed before battle, in the dark of night.”

“Just what sort of ritual is this?” she asked, sense reasserting itself as she realized who she was talking to.

Morrigan sighed, but her even tone remained. “It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call it blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names.”

“Nothing comes without a price,” Solona reminded Morrigan gently.

“Perhaps,” she smiled. “But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more.”

Solona moved to sit on the foot of the bed and Morrigan watched her closely. “Very well, what is your plan?”

Morrigan moved to join her, their knees nearly touching as she sat with her body twisted to face Solona. “What I propose is this...” she held up a hand to make certain Solona allowed her to finish before interrupting. “Convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight. And from this ritual a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint, and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.”

“So the child becomes a Darkspawn?” Solona almost shrieked. Ignoring that Morrigan had just asked to borrow her lover so she could have his baby.

“Not at all,” she shook her head, realizing that Solona was nearing a meltdown and grasping her hand. That alone made Solona pause and listen. “It will become something different. A child born with the soul of an Old God... After this is done, you allow me to walk away... and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

Solona sat dazed, her hands still in Morrigan's as the witch waited patiently for her brain to catch up with the conversation. “Wh-Why Alistair? Why not R-Riordan?”

Morrigan scoffed. “Even if I thought Riordan could be convinced, he is unsuitable. I need one who has not been tainted for long... It must be him, and it must be tonight.”

It was Solona's turn to scoff. “You actually think Alistair will agree to this?”

Morrigan looked her directly in the eyes as she spoke. “If you care for him as you seem to, you will convince him to. Consider what the alternative might be? Do you think Alistair will fail to do his duty as the future king and save his country? And if you take the blow instead he loses the woman he loves. How do you think he would feel about that? I think you have many good reasons to tell him to save his own life. I think you should consider them carefully.”

Solona slid her hands from Morrigan's grip and stood, pacing as she considered. Morrigan had said her piece and was willing to wait for Solona to make her decision. Her thoughts twisted in her mind, making it impossible to sort out the good from the bad. Every argument she had against the ritual sounded stupid and juvenile. Finally, hugging herself, she stopped in front of Morrigan and squared her shoulders. “All right. I agree. I'll do it.”

Morrigan smiled widely. “A wise decision. I shall wait here, then, while you go and speak with Alistair. I urge you to be convincing.”

 

Solona dragged her feet through the hall, the right words slipping in and out of her mind as she mumbled and practiced with herself. Alistair hated Morrigan. How was she going to convince him to sleep with her? It had taken her months to get in his pants, and he loved her. She groaned as she approached his door. She lifted her hand to knock and then pulled it away before actually knocking. She sighed and paced before the door. Back and forth. Back and forth. Finally stopping in front of it again. She swallowed and lifted her hand again. This time she actually knocked. He was at the door in seconds, standing in her way of entering. “I see you can't sleep either.” He sighed and backed into the room, beckoning her inside. “Don't mind the mess. I also saw Morrigan outside your room earlier, and the look she gave me... that was icy even for her. Is something up?”

She glanced around as he dropped heavily into a chair and ran fingers through his hair. There were books and several little odds and ends all over the floor. She closed the door behind her. “Redecorating?” she asked quietly, realizing he had likely had a small tantrum over Riordan's news.

“I looked around and suddenly, I hated everything,” he sighed.

“You can't sleep? Is everything all right?” she asked, picking up one of the books and sitting on the edge of the bed across from his chair.

“Not really. All these men look at me and... I see it in their eyes. I'm their king. Suddenly it feels so real. And then Riordan... But now you're changing the subject. This isn't about me, this is about Morrigan. I'm tired but I'm not stupid. What did she want?” he asked glancing up at her as she rolled the pages off her finger, flipping them back and forth.

“Alistair,” she paused and bit her lip then sighed heavily. “We need to talk.”

“Oh,” he said with his own heavy sigh. He sat up and then slumped back in his chair in exhaustion. “I guess whatever Morrigan had to say, it's big. This is what I get for becoming king. Everyone always brings you the bad news. So what is it, then? Rats running amok? Cheese supplies run low? I can take it.”

Solona flinched at his sarcasm, setting the book aside and pulling her legs up so she was curled in a ball. “I love you. You know that, right?” she asked.

He glanced up and suddenly, he was taking her seriously. “Could you make it sound more ominous? Tell me already...” he stood and spun to sit beside her.

“What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying?” she asked.

His brow cocked. “You mean with the Archdemon, right? If you mean running away, I can't do that.” At the disgusted look on her face he continued. “But you don't mean that, do you? What is this about?”

She dropped her legs back down and steadied her nerves, attempting to bring light to the situation. “Your wildest dreams come true... sex with Morrigan!” she said wiggling her fingers like a bard telling a story to children.

He burst out laughing as the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders. “All right, that's pretty funny. Nice way to cut the tension. So what's really up?” he asked between chuckles.

“I'm completely serious.” she said with no inflection. “It's part of a ritual.”

He laughed again, snorting this time. “Cute. This is payback, right? For all the jokes?” When she still didn't laugh, his grin faded, and he looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “But... you're not joking. You're actually serious.” he leaned an elbow on his knee and she watched his breathing increase. “Wow, be killed by the Archdemon or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice?” his small chuckle fell flat. “You're not actually asking me this, are you? What kind of ritual is this, anyway?”

She bit her lip and took one of his hands. “I won't lie to you. It will produce a child.”

“WHAT!?” he shouted, standing up from the bed and yanking his hand from hers. He ran his fingers through his hair again and began to pace. “I... I must be hearing things, but are you telling me to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of magical sex rite?!” he exclaimed as he paced, his chest heaving as he stressed out. “This... child... why would Morrigan want such a thing? Does she want an heir to the throne?”

Solona shook her head. “All she said is that you will never see it.”

He snorted with derision. “Right until it marches up with an army to claim the throne, I'm sure.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed. “Look, even if I was willing to entertain this idea... and I'm not saying I am... is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure...?” He dropped into the chair again.

She stood and paced over to him, leaning her butt on the desk beside him, her palms beside her on the desk. “You need to trust me,” she said gently. “I've thought this through...”

He reached out and pried her nearest hand from the desk and squeezed it between both of his. “I do trust you...” then he kissed her knuckles. She could see the hope flashing through his eyes that she had felt when Morrigan approached her. “If this is what you think is best... I'll do it.” He groaned audibly and shuddered. “Where is she? Let's go and get this over with before I... change my mind.”

Solona brought him back to her room where Morrigan, true to her word, was waiting. “ 'Twould seem your talk is done?” she said with a smirk, her hips swaying sensually as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Great. So this isn't a dream after all,” he said bitingly.

She glared for a moment and said, “What is it to be, then? Has a decision been reached?”

“Alistair has agreed to your... request,” Solona said, choosing her word carefully.

“Wait,” he said, glancing at Solona apologetically. “I want to ask about this... child. The one you... want.”

Morrigan cocked a brow at Solona. “Interesting. Honesty wouldn't have been _my_ first choice.”

He held up his palms. “I just want to be sure that you're not going to use this... against Ferelden. That this bastard child of mine isn't going to show up some year...”

“Of that you have my word,” Morrigan said with certainty.

Alistair sighed. “Why don't I feel any better about this?” he muttered. Then with one final glance at Solona, he said, “All right. Let's... just get this over with.”

Morrigan smiled genuinely, not a hint of malice on her features before glancing apologetically at Solona and saying, “Let us go somewhere more private, Alistair. And believe me when I say you will not hate this quite so much as you believe.”

Morrigan led Alistair from the room, leaving Solona very pointedly alone. She moved to the fire, taking a seat on the floor in front of the warmth, trying to steer her mind from what was happening down the hall. She endlessly reminded herself that she was doing this to save their lives. When the fire taunted her with person shaped flames, locked in heated embrace, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her knees. The soothing crackle of the burning wood began to drown out her imagination as the weight of the day began to tug at her consciousness.

She jerked upright as a hand fell on her shoulder and she spun around to Alistair with his palms up in supplication. “Don't fry me! I didn't just... get busy... “ he shuddered. “with Morrigan for you to kill me before the Archdemon gets a chance.”

She looked down at her palm as it glowed with magic. “Sorry,” she muttered, staunching the mana and looking up at him.

His expression was a mixture of regret, guilt and embarrassment. His hair was damp and she realized he must have bathed after his encounter. He looked exhausted underneath the painted on grin as he asked her, “Were you asleep?”

“Um... I guess so?” she said realizing that would account for the passed time and the stabbing ache in her tailbone from sitting on the stone floor, even with the ornate rug beneath her. She looked around, still frowning. “So everything... you know what, never mind. I don't want to know.”

He helped her to her feet and led her to the bed. “We... did... what we had to...” he said slowly, not wanting to go into detail or make things any more awkward. “And I'm never making eye contact with Morrigan again.”

She snorted, understanding his need for her to accept what had happened and move through it, so he could try and forget about it. “Consider the subject dropped.”

“I'm exhausted,” he sighed, “Let's go to sleep.”

 

The army set a grueling pace, only stopping for a couple of hours during the night to eat and catch a few hours of rest before setting off in the morning. Solona's limbs complained, but she kept up. As the general of this particular army, she had a duty to them to not show a single ounce of weakness. They made it to the Capital near dawn on the ninth day, only hours behind the Darkspawn if the scouts could be believed. They paused outside the city and Alistair gave an inspiring speech, worthy of his title. He stood before his armies and his voice raised over the masses, making her proud as she stood below his makeshift dais of the front porch of an abandoned house. “Before us stands the might of the Darkspawn horde! Gaze upon them now, but fear them not!” He glanced over at her, beckoning her to join him. “This woman beside me is a native of Ferelden, risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! She is proof that glory is within reach of us all! She has survived despite the odds, and without her, none of us would be here! Today, we save Denerim! Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan! But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice! For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!” The crowd shouted and cheered, vigor replacing their weariness. Solona could feel it, like a living thing. Hope. These people believed in them and their cause.

Riordan led the charge as Solona slipped herself in with the mages, her own people following her. When the army clashed with the Darkspawn line, chaos erupted. Solona lost most of the others in the shuffle. She conserved her mana, using her staff to fire off simple spells that merely shocked the Darkspawn. It took more hits to down one, but there were simply too many people for her to use anything that might breed friendly fire. Their army was mildly disorganized as several groups with differing backgrounds and fighting styles worked to mesh together. Amazingly enough, it worked. She saw mages saving the lives of knights and dwarves cutting down darkspawn that got too close to the Dalish archers. They all fought tirelessly, edging closer and closer to breaching the city's gates.

The city itself was a mess. Solona ran through the gates, knocking back a row of charging Darkspawn with a punch from her spirit hands. The gap allowed for more of the army to get inside, funneling through the bottleneck of the gates. Some of the Dalish went around and found holes in the stone walls where the Darkspawn had already breached, pouring in like water to attack from other angles, surrounding the Darkspawn in the city's main entry. Solona caught sight of a few more of her companions as the horde began to thin under the rage of her armies. Her skin vibrated under the sheer number of Darkspawn present within the city proper and she moved through the battle, hitting every Darkspawn she laid eyes on. When she began to be able to see more through the crowd, she picked out Shale, barreling her way through the horde, laughing maniacally as every punch with her crystalized hands set fire to a Darkspawn. Oghren was not far off, swinging his axe with practiced ease, his berserker skills giving him an edge as the frenzy of battle set him over the edge. Leliana was out of arrows, but she had pulled two daggers from her belt and was hacking away at the enemy in a fluid dance. Solona imagined she could hear her song as she hummed her enchantments into her weapons. Zevran's dagger wielding was less like water. His movements were more jerky as he worked in whatever shadows he could find, dipping in and out of sight to land several backstabs before the Darkspawn knew he was there. Sten fought with a cool confidence that eased over their allies surrounding him. He was lobbing darkspawn heads off over the top of dwarven allies below. Barkspawn kept to her heels as best he could, protecting her as she cast. Wynne was laying glyphs all around that Solona deftly avoided. Morrigan constantly was shifting from one form to another, and Solona lamented that she had never agreed to teach her the skills.

A momentary spark of panic settled in Solona's gut as she realized she had not seen Alistair since the battle began. She glanced around, looking for the distinct blue of his armor. When she didn't see him, she reached out with her senses, trying to find him, but there were simply too many Darkspawn around for her to pinpoint one Warden in the mess. Barkspawn barked a warning as a genlock charged her. She smacked it away with her staff and it went flying through the air to slam into a crumbling pillar. She cast a barrier around herself to remain relatively safe while she searched, her eyes flicking over the chaos. She still couldn't see him and the world narrowed before her, making finding him her only goal. She realized that she was not being constantly attacked anymore and when she looked around again, there was a break in the Darkspawn where her troops were able to swarm into the area and secure it. She watched her friends gather and then she saw him enter from beyond the gates. “Thank the Maker,” she mumbled as she jogged over to where the others had gathered around Riordan.

“You've managed to fight your way to the gates. We're doing better than I hoped,” Riordan said with a grin upon seeing her.

“That will change quickly,” Sten grumbled.

“Bloody nug runners! We're outnumbered three to one!” Oghren exclaimed, leaning on his axe and sipping from his flask.

“What are we to do now, Riordan? You have a plan I assume?” Wynne asked, glaring at Oghren as he belched.

Riordan nodded. “The army will not last long, so we'll need to move quickly to reach the Archdemon. I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you into the city. Anyone you don't bring with you can remain here to prevent more Darkspawn from entering Denerim on our tails.”

“How are we going to fight a flying dragon?” Solona asked as the offending creature swept through the sky overhead.

“We're going to need to reach a high point in the city... I'm thinking the top of Fort Drakon might work,” Riordan mused.

“The top of...? You want to draw the dragon's attention?” Alistair asked. He had placed himself by her side and she noted every scratch and bruise on him.

“We have little choice, though I warn you that as soon as we engage the beast it will call all it's generals to help it. I can sense two generals in Denerim. You may wish to seek them out before going to Fort Drakon,” Riordan said.

Leliana hummed. “I'm sure that if we did slay those generals, it would stop the Darkspawn in the city from doing a lot of harm!”

Riordan nodded. “It may also waste resources trying to find them. The decision is up to you.”

“Do you know where these Generals are?” Solona asked him, knowing her senses were far too muddled to make out the difference.

“Neither of them are near Fort Drakon currently, but there are too many Darkspawn here to tell you more,” he admitted. “There are already several units of our allies within the city by now. They may be able to come to your assistance if you call them, but their strength will be limited.” He indicated the horn she carried on her belt. “Now, who do you wish to take with you into the city?” She moved to the side and nodded to Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana. Strategically, this was her best team. The others would work well together to protect the army and keep the horde at bay. “Fair enough,” he said as they joined her, Alistair and Morrigan standing as far from each other as possible. “Anyone else will need to remain here and assist in keeping more Darkspawn from coming in the gates behind us. Who will lead them?” he reiterated.

“Sten would be suitable,” she said with a smile.

“Very likely,” Sten agreed, his lips twitching.

“Good. That should be sufficient,” Riordan said. “Nothing you have done has prepared you for what you face now. May the Maker watch over you,” he said with a bow before jogging off to do his own hunting.

Each of her companions had a small goodbye to say to her and she watched the others mingle as well. Wynne began, smiling widely. “So this is it then. All that we've been through has led up to this. Whatever happens now... to either of us, know that I am proud... infinitely proud... to have called you friend.” She embraced her and whispered in her ear. “Farewell, and may the Maker watch over you.”

She moved to Oghren who saluted her sloppily. “This is it, Warden. 'When from the blood of battle the Stone has fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead.' As one of the blighters, I sodding salute you. Let's show them our hearts and then show them theirs.”

“So the Archdemon is next, is it?” Shale asked her quizically. “Part of me is glad that it has decided to leave me here at the gate, but the other part is... apprehensive? I would almost say that I feel concern for something other than myself, even maybe for a soft, squishy companion... but that would be silly, wouldn't it?”

“Its scandalous to even consider the notion!” Solona gasped, her hand over her heart.

“I know! Please do not tell anyone. I doubt I could blush, but it would be so awkward. And... do try not to get swallowed whole. If the beast were to fly about afterwards and poop it out, irony would dictate that it would land on me. I couldn't take it,” she shuddered. “Well then, I suppose this is it? Have fun storming the castle.”

Solona was still grinning when Sten walked up to her, his expression stern and determined. “Are you ready? We have reached the battlefield at last.”

“Thank you for your help, Sten,” she said with a grin.

He pursed his lips. “I have done nothing. You have carried us this far. Do not doubt that.” Then he walked off without a goodbye. Did he have that much faith?”

Leliana continued with the dialogue that most of them had already said. “So, this is it... this is the end. We've come so far. It's strange knowing that all our fates will be decided in a matter of hours,” her expression was one part whistful and two parts excited with a mild hint of unease. “We stand on the precipice, before the greatest battle of our age... I wonder if the heroes of old ever felt like this.”

“Are you afraid?” Solona asked, knowing she had a healthy dose of her own terror roiling in her gut.

She pulled Solona into a warm hug and spoke boldly. “I am not afraid. We go to fight for a good cause and there is nowhere else I would rather be. You are a dear, dear friend, and I will stand with you, to whatever end.” She pulled away and held Solona's arms in her grip. “This day, we will forge a legend of our own.”

When she left with a smile, Solona felt a clap on her back. “Heading off to slay dragons without me, hmm?” Zevran said with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. Say hello to the Archdemon for me. He never writes anymore, it's rather distressing. And... do watch your back. No getting eaten. Unless you think it's really important, of course.” He left her to go to Leliana and Morrigan approached her quietly.

“So we head into the city together. As it should be. Once this is done, no matter how it turns out I will be gone. You are aware of this, yes?” she asked with a pained expression.

Solona cringed. “I will find you, Morrigan. I swear it.” They were friends. Morrigan shouldn't be left to whatever fate she thought she deserved.

“I do not think that would be wise,” she said with a small smirk. Solona viewed the expression as a challenge. Then Morrigan sighed, hugging herself. “Allow me to say only one thing before we go. I knew nothing of friendship before we met. And I will always consider you such. Live well, my friend. Live gloriously.” Morrigan must have recognized the expression on Solona's face because she held up her hands to keep her from hugging her. “Now let us see this finally done. The Archdemon awaits.” And then moved off to wait by the gates into the city.

Finally, it was Alistair's turn. He watched Morrigan move off with a curious scowl and then turned his worried look on her. “So this could be it. Soon this will be finished, one way or another.”

She moved into his space, looking up into the shimmering blue of his eyes that she had fallen for almost as soon as she'd seen them. She brushed fingers through the side of his hair, rearranging a bit of it that had been mussed in the battle. “Neither of us are dying, Alistair,” she said with confidence, sliding her hand down to cup his face gently.

He exhaled a breath, boldly leaning into her touch in full view of the army and whoever else may be watching. “You put more faith in Morrigan than I would in your shoes.” Then he reached up and mirrored her gesture, tugging playfully on the front of her hair. “Just remember that her ritual doesn't protect us from getting squished by the Archdemon. So let's kick it's ass.” Then he knuckled her chin before leaving her with a sweet kiss that lingered on her lips.

She readied her staff and then joined Morrigan by the gate to allow the others a few more moments. “ 'Twould seen the entire city is overrun. No chance of bystanders, then,” Morrigan pointed out with pragmatism.

“That doesn't mean we shouldn't hunt down those generals,” Solona said, squaring her shoulders and licking her lips. Alistair and Leliana joined them, Barkspawn on Alistair's heels, panting excitedly. “Everyone ready?”

They all nodded and moved as a group into the city. Blockades, toppled buildings and fires blocked their path through the main entrance to the city, so Solona picked her way around the rubble and found the gate that led into the Alienage. It was strangely quiet in the alley and they moved quickly, making as much effort to give the armies all the time they could. The Vhenadhal tree came into view and huddled around it were several elves, armed with makeshift weapons, Shianni at their head.

Solona jogged up to her and she turned with a surprised expression on her thin face. “The Maker certainly blessed you with perfect timing,” the elf cried. The Darkspawn are at the gates, but they won't hold.”

“Get yourselves to safety,” Solona insisted, and Shianni nodded, ushering her people in the direction Solona had come from. Solona and the others made their way to the Alienage gates. They were not made of much more than reinforced wood that was slowly rotting from age. Loud thumps were coming from the other side as the Darkspawn hammered to get in. Solona ran up a set of wooden stairs on one side of the gate, Leliana took the other side. There was an ogre on the outside of the gate, pounding it's fists on the gate and occasionally lowering it's head to ram it's horns into the cracking wood. “Take it down!” she shouted, hoping to keep the gates in place. It was no good. Darkspawn with bows forced her to expend mana on putting a barrier up around herself, Leliana and Morrigan as they rained arrows and fire down on the gathered horde on the opposite side of the gates. “Get out of the way!” She shouted down to Alistair as the ogre braced for another ram of it's horns. She could see that the gate was ready to come down. This hit would be the one to break it. She grabbed the horn from her belt and blew into it as the gate came crashing down. Darkspawn poured into the Alienage, the bestial grunts and growls from their throats filling the air as they charged. Solona counted the seconds and almost immediately, a line of Dalish entered the fray. Darkspawn fell by the dozens to the supreme archery skills as the Dalish held the line. A strange tickling at the back of her neck coupled with the tug of magic in the air made Solona turn. A huge emissary moved with the crowd, directing the other Darkspawn around it. It felt powerful, the corruption strong as it sang through her mind. “That has to be one of the Generals,” she guessed and then shouted to her companions. She dropped down off the wall into the sea of Darkspawn and waded her way through them. Casting as she moved, they fell beneath her magic. An organized group sent by the now aware general attempted to surround her and she dropped to a knee, sending mana through her staff. It acted as a reverse lightning rod, striking everything around her as she drew from the earth. The spell left scorches on the ground in a circle around her as she stood. Her barrier was struck with a spirit bolt and she jerked back. Alistair charged past her, knocking genlocks out of his way with his shield and his sword glowing brightly, making other Darkspawn shy away. With a shout, he breached the circumference of the general's barrier, dispeling it with a gesture and a bit of templar magic. He slashed the powerful blade at the Darkspawn and it shrieked, cowering from the blade. He backed it up against a building and then stabbed at it's gut. A howl of pain echoed across the battlefield as he pushed the emissary off his blade with his shield and then spun, taking it's head. Wherever the blade touched it's flesh, it's skin sizzled like he had thrown acid on it. The remaining Darkspawn were disorganized with the death of the general as their hive mind awaited orders from the Archdemon. They were easy to pick off.

Solona left the contingent of Dalish to defend the Alienage and headed for the bridge that would take her into the Market district and further into the city. When they had nearly made it to the opposite end of the bridge, she stopped in her tracks as a great bellowing roar drew her attention overhead. The Archdemon swooped down, causing her and the others to dive out of the way as the rush of air from it's wings nearly knocked her off her feet. It brought with it the stench of carrion and taint. On it's second pass over, it launched a massive ball of fire at the bridge. Solona raised a barrier and Alistair threw himself down in front of Morrigan with his shield raised to block the worst of the blaze from her, as she was closest to the impact site. The Archdemon flew off, and Solona dropped her hands in exhaustion. She watched Alistair stand and offer the shocked Morrigan a hand up. No one besides the three of them knew what had taken place back in Redcliffe and Leliana looked on in wonder, her brow arched.

The bridge was destroyed, flaming bits of mortar crumbling into the small canal below, cutting off their way back. “I think we made it mad,” Alistair quipped.

“It'll be even crankier when we find it's other general,” she said, spinning her staff and carrying it with the head facing downwards in a defensive angle. “Let's go stir the pot.”

They headed into the market district and Solona could not believe her eyes. The great colorful canopy that had stood in the middle of the district protecting several merchant stands from the elements had been ripped down along with the stands themselves. The pile of rubble was now on fire. The air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke from the many fires in the surrounding buildings. Ash rained down on them like snowflakes, coating anything that stood still for too long. Several ogres milled about in the wide open space of the market and Solona held her hand out to stop the others. They huddled behind a building that was not on fire as she assessed the situation. “There are emissaries ahead,” Morrigan pointed out as Solona also felt the pull of magic.

Solona nodded in agreement. “These orges are going to be the real challenge.”

“I think the other general is nearby,” Alistair said, his nose wrinkling. She also felt the tingle in the back of her throat.

“Okay. I can cast a wall of flame, but that won't hold them back for long. We need to strike as efficiently as possible and take out as many as we can quickly before the others can swarm us.” When the others understood the plan, she charged out, her fingers already casting. She laid down the two sigils that connected one side of the wall to the other and lifted her hands to pull the magic from the ground. The wall erected drawing the attention of the closer by ogres. She had left one on their side of the crackling wall and her companions came down on it, Alistair's blade bringing it to it's knees so Leliana could slash at it with her enchanted daggers. Solona targeted another on the opposite side of the flame wall, slamming the ground with her staff and casting the winter's grasp through the flickering heat. Morrigan chanted, swirling her hands above her head and she was enveloped in a bright light. When the light faded, she had vanished and in her place was a great swarm of stinging insects. Solona marveled as she flew over the flames and darted for another of the ogres, The hundreds of insects stung and battered the brute, pushing it backwards into the pile of burning rubble in the center of the square. When it fell into the fire, clawing at it's own face, she moved onto a second one. Solona's firewall was dwindling and she heard a crash that indicated the Alistair and Leliana had dealt with the first ogre. Without bothering to wait for the flames to die, Solona fade stepped past the blaze and had the stonefist ready. She threw it at the chilled ogre that she had cast the winter's grasp on and it roared, beating it's chest angrily. It lowered it's horns to charge her and she rolled out of the way. It landed right in the lingering flames from her spell and the magic fire crawled up it's skin and enveloped it in a wreath of fire. She moved on, not bothering to watch it die. They were four ogres down thanks to Morrigan who was now back in her human form, slinging chunks of ice at a fifth. The wall finally came down and Leliana and Alistair joined the fray. Arrows flew with bardic magic precision, each following the path of the last to land in a cluster in the eye of a sixth. Alistair ducked and weaved, slicing his runed blade at the legs of another as it tried to reach down and grab him.

She had been so preoccupied with the ogres that she had forgotten the emissaries. Suddenly a great force slammed into her back, knocking her a few feet before she hit the ground. Dazed, her staff flew from her hands and she gasped for air. Her vision doubled as she tried to look up and no matter how hard she tried, her arms wouldn't lift her back to her feet. Barkspawn ran past her, snarling and growling. He launched himself at the emissary, his great weight knocking the thing down. His paws bashed into it's skull, and it gave Leliana the opportunity to plant two arrows in it's brain. Barkspawn jumped off the body and bounded over to her, whimpering and licking at her face. She vaguely heard the heavy thump of another ogre falling and then footfalls as Alistair and Leliana ran to her side, Morrigan shifting into a wolf to distract the final ogre as they tended to her.

Breathing was no simple task. Each inhalation was agony. Several more feet were hitting the ground around her and she heard a distant voice shout, “Step aside, I can heal her.”

Someone rolled her onto her back and she cried out, her side screaming as several broken ribs made themselves known. Alistair's voice was farther off than it should be. “Maker, please,” he whimpered.

She opened her eyes slowly as she fought the dizziness from the spell she'd been hit with. There were at least seven mages in the district now accompanied by a couple of dwarves. One of the mages leaned over her with a grin. “Hold still. You'll be just fine.” Somehow, the voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it in her confusion. Bright blue light hovered in a halo around him as his red blonde hair fell in his face. The healing magic rushed into her, mending the breaks in her ribs and chasing the cobwebs from her mind. A strange itching on her forehead indicated that flesh was knitting back together. Had she hit her head? She groaned and he pulled his hands away. “There good as new.” He stood and jogged off to start throwing angry balls of fire from his fists as Alistair dropped down beside her, his hands hovering as she sat up, rubbing her head.

“Ow,” she complained. “How bad was it?”

“Take it easy,” he soothed, pulling a red healing draught from his belt. “I think we got a look inside your skull there for a second.”

She gulped the potion gratefully as Leliana collected her staff. “Oh? I guess there is never a skull moment in this war,” she said with a chuckle, the sheer intensity of the mage's healing magic making her giddy.

Alistair snorted and helped her to her feet. “You are so not funny.”

“Oh come on. I wracked my brain to make that pun,” she complained, taking her staff from Leliana who attempted not to laugh.

“Sweet Maker,” he groaned. “I would ask if you're feeling all right, but it seems you're back to normal.”

“Who was that guy?” she wondered, trying to place the voice, but it was already slipping her mind. His healing powers had been like nothing she had ever felt. Even Wynne couldn't stack up.

Alistair shrugged. “He wasn't wearing Circle robes, but he was with the group of mages that showed up.”

She shook her head. “Nevermind. Where's Morrigan?”

“Here,” she called from down a nearby alley that poured out in front of the Chantry. “I believe the dwarves and the mages have found your other general.” She pointed.

Solona moved up beside her and sure enough, a large hurlock was surrounded by the rescue party. The healer was no where to be found and she puzzled over who he could have been. The general didn't stand a chance. When it fell, the group spread out to take down the rest of the ogres. With the market district secured, Solona was glad that they were taking back so much of the city. They left the district to the mages and moved on through the gate behind the Chantry that led into the palace district. If they could fight their way up through the many estates and climb the winding staircases all of the way up, they could reach Fort Drakon at the top of the hill.

There were already several groups of soldiers inside the district fighting the Darkspawn that had swarmed the city. Solona paused to help where she could and as they reached the top of the next to last staircase, a great cacophany sounded over head. She looked up, ready to dodge out of the way of the Archdemon. What she saw instead was Riordan on the beast's back, riding it like a horse. He was holding on to the pommel of his sword that was jammed between the creature's shoulders. It flapped it's wings and rolled to it's side in the air, heading straight for one of the towers of the city to knock him off. Riordan pulled his sword from the Archdemon and leapt to the side, slicing with his sword to again latch onto the membrane of it's wing, just as it slammed it's back into the tower, crumbling the building with it's weight. It shrieked in anger as it realized Riordan was still on it. It flapped it's great wings, pumping higher into the air toward the fort over head. As it climbed, it's wings flapping, it became harder to see Riordan against the darkness of it's flesh. Suddenly a great tear opened up in the wing making the beast cry out again as it lost the momentum to climb higher. Then she saw a dark speck that was growing larger as it fell. “Maker, no,” she gasped as she realized that the speck was Riordan. She watched him plummet to his death and turned into Alistair's chest. He hugged her in comfort.

“Well Morrigan,” he said. “Looks like it falls to you.”

“Fear not, Alistair,” she said as they watched the dragon fall from the sky and crash into the roof of the Fort. “Riordan got it where we wanted it, and the spell _will_ work. All that remains is for us to reach it.”

 


	15. The Battle of Fort Drakon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can our heroes win the day?

The Fort was overrun with darkspawn on every floor. In the storage room, amazingly, they found Bodhan's son standing by himself looking off into the distance. “Sandal? How did you get here? Where's Bodhan?” Solona asked as she noted the entire room full of Darkspawn corpses around him.

He turned his glassy look on her and smiled. “Enchantment?” he asked.

She patted him on the head, realizing he was safe for the time being. “No thank you. I'm all set.”

Barkspawn barked and licked his cheek before following her up the stairs to the next floor. “Enchantment,” Sandal said with a giggle.

Six floors and a long winding spiral staircase later, they were emerging on the roof. Soldiers who had been on the roof working the Ballistas were now pointlessly shooting tiny arrows at the raging Archdemon as it flailed it's limbs, kicking and swiping its tail all around, breathing fire every chance it got. The soldiers were all dying quickly. The Archdemon reached down and chomped a man between its jaws before shaking him like a dog with a rat and then flung him over the side of the tower. Another man was trampled under its feet as it swiped it's tail, knocking four men from their feet. Solona blew her horn, calling anyone in the vicinity to the roof. They needed more soldiers.

The horn drew the Archdemon's attention as well and it spun it's head to look directly at her. Seconds later, it was lifting it's head to draw in a breath so it could blast her with fire. “Don't move!” she shouted, throwing her hands out before her and casting a wide barrier around them. The fire hit the barrier and she dropped to her knees under the heat, sweat beading on her face. Morrigan's hand touched her shoulder and added her power to the barrier, strengthening it under the blast of fire. It was so hot that the flames burned blue as they streamed over the dome of protection. Solona gritted her teeth and then cried out under the pressure. As soon as the fire ceased, hands grabbed her and dragged her to her feet and they all scattered.

Both Darkspawn and humans were now swarming the roof for a chance at the fight. She scrambled to her feet and ran for cover behind a small lip on the edge of one of the rises in the construction. The roof itself was not a flat surface. The center where they had spilled out was surrounded by raised areas that were accessible from several points around the roof that ramped up to different levels. The Archdemon lost track of her in the chaos and she took deep inhalations to catch her breath. She dug a Lyrium potion from her belt pack as Alistair skidded to a halt after chasing down a hurlock and stabbing it in the back. He dropped down beside her and asked. “Are you all right.”

She tipped the potion and grinned. “Better now.” She glanced around the roof, looking over the lip they were crouched behind. The Archdemon certainly didn't discriminate as it flailed around, batting at it's own troops as well as her army. “We need to find a way to wear it down,” she mumbled.

“At least it's semi-grounded,” he said as it attempted to fly away only to drop back down after only getting a few feet off the ground.

Solona scanned the rooftop, looking for an advantage. Then she grabbed Alistair's arm and squeezed in excitement. “The ballistas! Can we turn them inwards?”

He reached out and grabbed her to kiss her. “You're brilliant! Yes!”

With the Archdemon distracted, they darted across the roof, climbing up to the nearest corner. A few Darkspawn stood in their way and Solona dragged her staff along the ground to raise spikes of ice into their midst. One got around the wall and ran for her with it's sword raised high, hissing and spitting. She lifted her staff to block the hurlock, but it swiped wide and sliced a gash in her arm before Alistair could thrust his sword through it's gut. “It's just a flesh wound,” she hissed, dropping her arm to examine the stinging cut. They ran for the ballista and Alistair began to crank the man sized crossbow around to face the Archdemon. It seemed to take forever as Solona fended off the Darkspawn that tried to rush them. She suffered several more surface wounds as she protected him. When she heard him stop cranking, she hastily erected a wall of fire to keep the monsters at bay while she helped him heft the heavy bolt into place. When it dropped into place, she cranked the mechanism and took aim The Archdemon lifted into the air again, complaining noisily as it's slit wing refused to get it airborne, and she pulled the lever to release the five foot long arrow. It shot through the air and slammed into the dragon's scaly hide. The beast dropped to the ground, the bolt sticking from it's chest as it raged. A deafening bellow erupted from it's throat. “Again!” she said, moving to grab another bolt. As they loaded the ammo, she was forced to drop it from her hands too early so she could throw up a barrier to protect them from the inferno that rose around them. “Shit! Get closer!” she shouted as the tornado of flames wreathed around them. Alistair moved as close as he could get to her as she shielded them from the torrent. The wooden ballista charred and cracked, the thick tension rope snapped and lashed toward them, weakening her barrier as it acted as a deadly whip, the impact absorbed by her barrier. She gritted her teeth as the fire slowed, the Archdemon's magic dwindling.

As soon as the flames died, she dropped her arms and sagged. “Sol,” Alistair grunted, catching her.

“I'm fine,” she insisted, pushing away from him. “We need to get to the other ballista on the opposite corner.”

With a look of concern plastered on his face, he nodded and followed after her. Each step she took was harder than the last. She didn't know if she could erect any more of those barriers and she prayed she wouldn't have to. She was seeping blood from her many cuts, Alistair not faring much better. One on his cheek had reopened and was dripping down his face. The heat from the dragon's fire coupled with the exertion of the battle had her sweating profusely and the sweat seeping into the open wounds burned. As they ran across the roof, they ran into Leliana who took down two genlocks in their path in quick succession and then followed after them. “Was that you two on the ballista?” she asked over the din of the battle.

“It was Sol's idea,” Alistair said with a grin.

“Head to the other, I will hold them off,” she said, breaking off and knocking another arrow that flew across the field and hit between the eyes of a shriek that had jumped on an elf and was attempting to maul the poor soldier. Solona felt the pull of magic and glanced around to see Morrigan casting a misdirection hex and laughing gleefully as her targets all began to miss every swing they took against the soldiers. Barkspawn took advantage of the situation by barreling into the confused Darkspawn and knocking them down to make them easy targets.

“Looks like the others are faring well,” Solona mused as she panted while running up the last ramp to the ballista.

“It's good you called the army when you did. The extra soldiers are a huge help,” he agreed, dropping to his knees beside the crank and turning the ballista. She kept a watch on his back as he aimed the great bow, noticing that it was already loaded. Leliana was doing a fine job of keeping the Darkspawn at bay. “This ballista is higher up, we need to adjust the tilt,” he mumbled. He grunted in effort, trying to release the pin. “It's stuck. Could you push from the other side..?” he requested.

She moved around to the opposite side and braced against the pin. They heaved together, him pulling and her pushing and finally with a bit of magical help, it budged. He helped her steady it until it was angled toward the Archdemon then he slipped the pin back in. “Here goes nothing,” she said going around the back to reach for the lever. An arrow came whizzing out of nowhere and ripped into her left thigh, the leg going out from under her.

“Sol!” Alistair cried as she bit back an agonized cry. She dragged herself back up using her arms to pull up to the lever. Checking the aim, she yanked it back and watched it hurtle toward the Archdemon. It embedded itself in the dragon's neck, drawing another agonized shriek from it. Alistair ducked under the mechanism to steady her as she leaned on the base of the ballista, praying that the Archdemon didn't send another torrent of fire at them in retribution. When she heard it shriek again, she looked up to see another bolt lodged in it's chest. Someone else had gotten to the other ballistae. A fourth took out its right flank and it dropped to the ground.

Solona saw her opportunity. She snapped the tip of the arrow off and yanked the shaft back through her leg, shouting in agony. After a split second to gather herself, she got to her feet and started moving. Alistair protested, but she swallowed the pain and stumbled down the ramp ahead of her. The beast was down, it was time to end this madness. Leliana joined them as Solona picked up speed, her adrenaline giving her a burst of stamina to work through the pain. Soon she was running, ducking and dodging the battle around her. Alistair was shouting something, but she didn't hear. All that mattered was the dragon. She snatched a sword from a corpse as she ran by, whipping the blade upwards as she got within meters of the Archdemon, it lifted it's great head to try and bite at her. She dropped to her knees, sliding along the blood slick stones beneath her, feeling the sword bite into the dragon's wyrm like neck. Black blood poured from the slice that she made in the membranous skin that ran the length of the underside of it's neck, coating her in ichor. She pushed off the ground and rolled out of the way as it's head came crashing down with a meaty thunk. For good measure, she flipped the blade and rammed it down into the Archdemon's skull.

With the killing blow, everything seemed to slow around her, time itself crawling by. A beacon of light shot up from the wound and paralyzed her. Her body went rigid, her hands trapped on the hilt of the sword. She was in the eye of the storm. Her skin burned as the magic licked over her. Did she scream? She couldn't tell over the ear splitting noise of rushing water that accompanied the energy pouring from the dragon, but her throat was raw. As suddenly as time had slowed, it sped up again, the energy folding in on itself before erupting in an explosion of raw energy that blasted her backwards. The last thing she remembered was a screaming pain in the back of her head and then darkness.

 

Her thigh throbbed. Her skin felt as if it had been flayed off and then dipped in salt. She was certain her brain was oozing from the back of her skull, but she was alive. She thought. She lifted an arm, and realized that the searing pain was simply the hundreds of cuts and her own sweat mingling. Her reactions were sluggish, but she rolled to her side. When she looked around, many people were getting up, just as she was, reveling in their own survival. She counted her limbs and realized they were all still attached. Her ears were ringing and sound was fuzzy, but she still heard someone in the distance calling her name. She glanced around, squinting in the too bright light of the setting sun. Then she saw him, looking around frantically. She pushed herself to her knees, balancing on the one that wasn't bleeding. “Here,” she said, barely able to hear her own voice. She coughed around the rasping of her throat and tried again. “Over here!”

Apparently the volume was enough because he jerked to a stop and spun around. When he caught sight of her, he ran to her, dropping to his knees and hugged her so tight she thought he might squeeze the air right out of her lungs. She returned the embrace, clinging to him like he was the only thing real in the world. Then heedless of the sticky blood that coated her, his hands grabbed her face and he kissed her. She couldn't help the ecstatic laugh that bubbled up from her gut. She laughed and threw herself at him, knocking them both to the ground.

“We're alive!” she shouted, ignoring the raw complaints from her throat. Then as he joined her laughter, she flopped down on top of him, reveling in the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed beneath her. She reached out her arms and lifted both middle fingers at the corpse of the dragon that laid much farther away than she had expected. The burst of energy had thrown her pretty far. No wonder her brain felt like mush. Then she dropped her arms again and allowed her cheek to rest on the cold metal of his chestplate. “We're alive,”she said again, much softer as the world swam around her.

 

The next time she awoke, someone was carrying her. There was a loud incessant thumping sound and she frowned. “It is stirring,” Shale's booming voice said from much too close.

She groaned. “Keep it down you pile of rubble.”

“Given it's current state, I shall deign not to be insulted,” she said, all movement ceasing along with the thumping. “The elderly mage could not make it all of the way up to the top of the tower, so I am bringing it to her.”

Solona grumbled pinching her eyes closed as soon as they opened. Everything was too bright. “Where's Alistair? Tell me that wasn't a dream...”

“I'm here, my dear,” he said softly from somewhere nearby. Shale shifted and Solona was placed on a cushiony surface. She immediately attempted to sit up, but gentle hands landed on her shoulders. “Relax, Sol. It's over. Wynne is almost here. She'll patch you up.”

 

Some time later, Solona woke, her mouth dry, but her injuries were on the mend. She raised to her elbow and reached back to feel the base of her skull where mere hours ago, she had been bleeding pretty badly. Her clothing had been changed and she had been cleaned up a bit. Her movement drew Alistair's attention who was sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed. He dropped his feet to the ground from having them propped on the bed and set down the book in his hands. He approached her with a grin and seated himself on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?” he asked, brushing hair from her face.

“Thirsty,” she rasped, frowning as she glanced around. “Where are we?”

He stood up and crossed the room to pour her some water from a pitcher and brought a cup to her. “Amazingly enough, most of the palace survived. It was the closest building from the Fort so we had everyone brought here. There is a makeshift hospital set up in the throne room and the dining hall. But you, the conquering hero, got the private room.” He smirked as she guzzled the whole glass of water. “It's Anora's old bedroom,” he whispered.

“A hospital? Already?” she wondered as he returned to the pitcher to get her more water.

“You have been out for a few days,” he informed her.

Her eyes widened and he chuckled at her comical expression. “Days?” she gasped and he nodded.

“Leliana has had plenty of time to write at least four ballads about you, and Oghren has made it his personal duty to keep watch outside your door,” he said. “Eamon has been in a frenzy planning the coronation for the precise moment the last cot leaves the castle. The last few days have been mostly funeral pyres and clean up efforts. Let me tell you, the city smells wonderful.”

Sarcasm dripped from him and she pulled her legs up under her, the blanket pooling in her lap. She noted that she was not fully healed in most places, several bandages wrapped around her arms and her leg complained as she stretched the muscle that the arrow had pierced. “How bad was the body count?” she asked sadly.

“Worse than we wanted, but better than we feared?” he shrugged. “We're still working on compiling the lists.”

“And how are you?” she asked noting the stitched up cut on his cheek.

“We're both alive... I'm overjoyed. I know that might sound selfish... I made sure the healers concentrated on more important injuries than a few minor cuts and bruises.”

“And how much of my brain seeped out before Wynne got a hold of me?” she joked.

He snorted. “She assures me that you'll make a full recovery. Besides you had plenty to spare. That idea with the ballistae was genius.”

“I'll bet Anora was right miffed when you survived,” she said, removing the blanket and hanging her legs off the side of the bed. She was wearing not much more than a robe and she secured the tie around her waist after standing. He moved to stand by her, not hovering, but there in case she stumbled. The leg pained her to put weight on it, but she worked through the pain, one hand on his shoulder for balance. She reached inside and felt the spool of mana in her chest full to the brim and she sighed. She had been so sapped near the end that she thought she might never feel whole again.

“Yes, well, Anora can go... lick her own lamppost in winter...” he said spitefully. She laughed out loud, the simple laughter turning into a relieved hysterical cackling. She was still amazed they were alive.

 

As soon as she had a meal in her and a long bath to scrub the last of the stench of Archdemon from her, she dressed in some borrowed clothes until she could get to the Grey Warden Vault and see if it had survived. She took Barkspawn out of the castle, stopping in the field hospitals first to see if there was anything she could do. They wandered the streets where most of the fires had been put out and people milled about, trying to pick their lives up from the ashes and rebuild. Barkspawn wagged his tail excitedly as she limped along, lending aid wherever she could. Her magic came in handy for lifting heavy fallen beams and shifting rubble. She helped uncover people both dead and alive. The living ones were taken to the castle or the Chantry depending on which was closest, and the dead were laid out in neat rows in the middle of the districts where folks who were missing loved ones had gathered to help in identifying the deceased.

For days, she spent her waking hours helping. The people were grateful for her aid and without realizing it, as Alistair's general, she was garnering support for him among the commoners. She discovered the Warden vault untouched and after her second day on the streets, she made it a point to be seen in the blue and silver robes, showing the people that mages weren't all to be feared.

Within weeks, repairs to the city were underway and the palace had been cleared out. Solona stood to the side of the dais where Alistair had earned his throne against Loghain, watching him as he walked proudly down the aisle in Cailan's old armor that had been cleaned up and repaired. The golden plate shimmered in the light that poured in from the small windows at the top of the hall. She had her hands clasped behind her back and she stood with her weight, unnoticeably, on the leg that had not taken the arrow. Her injured thigh still gave her a limp, but it was not pronounced. All eyes were on Alistair as he walked up the short stairs to the top of the dais where the Revered Mother awaited him. He bowed as low as the armor would allow and then she lifted her hand and said a short prayer over him, asking the Maker to bless his reign. With those few short words, he was king officially. She smiled up at him as he turned and lifted his hand to wave at his people, a wide smile on his face. The crowd cheered, rejoicing in their king and then he lifted his other hand to ask for silence.

When the room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, he glanced around and with the smile still on his face he said, “My friends, we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. Of those who stood against the Darkspawn siege of Denerim,” his gaze moved down to where she stood with the rest of her companions. “There is one in particular who deserves commendation.” She glanced around, the unexpected honor falling on her as he waved her up to join him. Zevran gave her a nudge forward and her face flushed. She hurried up the stairs and stopped before him, bowing low as he continued. “The one who led the final charge against the Archdemon remains with us still, an inspiration to all she saved that day. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the Hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the Blight since Garahel four centuries ago.” He turned his attention on her and cocked his head at her embarassment. “My friend,” he said pointedly. “it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor.” he smirked. “Is there any boon that you might request of Ferelden's king? If it is within my power, I will grant it.”

Her jaw dropped. He had not warned her about this. As she looked out over the crowd, one person in particular caught her attention as he beamed up at her. First Enchanter Irving was standing among a group of fellow mages, nothing but pride in his gaze as he awaited what she might say. She turned back to Alistair and cleared her throat. “I ask that the Circle of Magi be given it's independence.”

Several gasps and other noises of shock echoed through the hall, but Alistair held up his palm and the silence returned. “You know, that's a very good point... Let it be known, then, that the Circle has earned the right to watch over itself. The tower shall be restored and then turned over to the mages,” he declared. Then he turned to face the crowd again. “Let it also be known that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them.” He raised his hands to let it be known that was all he had to say. The crowd all bowed and then moved to begin mingling. He turned to her and she realized that they had little time together since she had begun assisting around the city. He smiled warmly and she watched him resist wringing his hands. Kings didn't wring their hands. “What are your plans? Will you remain with the Grey Wardens?”

Was he asking her if she was leaving? “I think you'll need my help,” she said with a smirk.

He sighed in relief. “Well, I didn't want to come right out and say it... but I'm relieved you'll be nearby... There's a group of Ferelden citizens outside eagerly awaiting to get a glimpse of their hero. I suggest you make at least a brief appearance before they storm the gate.” he chuckled sweetly. “Just tell the guard at the door when you're ready...”

She glanced around before looking back at him. “You could have warned me, you know.”

He looked down at his feet. “I was afraid you might not accept if I warned you. Sorry.”

“Damn straight,” she grumbled crossing her arms, but she couldn't even hold it against him for a second as he pouted. “Oh that look is going to be the death of me someday,” she sighed.

He looked up at her and grinned. “So we made it. I'm impressed, aren't you?” His grin faded and his voice lowered. His hands trembled with the need to touch her, but in the public setting, it was too soon for them to be flaunting their relationship. “I was so scared that I might lose you, but... here you are. And here I am. Not bad, right? I guess Morrigan was telling the truth, after all. About the... ritual.” he cringed. “The rest of the Grey Wardens haven't arrived yet from Orlais, but they've already sent... questions. What should I tell them?”

She shrugged and clasped her hands behind her back again. “Tell them they were wrong.”

He snorted. “Yes. All you need is a maleficar willing to have your demon baby. Who knew?” He sighed. “No, I suppose I'll just keep that to myself. I can shrug and look stupid. It's a talent.” She giggled before he continued. “Speaking of Morrigan, do you know where she went? I'm told she vanished right after the battle. No good-byes or anything...”

Solona shrugged again. “I don't know where she went. But I'll find her.”

He frowned. “I thought you were sticking around? It's up to you I suppose... I don't imagine she'll be easy to find if she doesn't want to be.”

Solona snickered as he got nervous she might be leaving. “I didn't say I was leaving today... But I think I've made enough friends around the country to send out feelers for her. If any solid leads arise, I'll pursue them...”

He grinned, the expression turning devious as he looked out over the assembled crowd. “At any rate, I can't wait to be alone with you. These formal affairs drive me insane.”

“Meet you upstairs later?” she asked with her own grin.

He nodded and she backed away slowly before making her way carefully down the stairs, her leg pinching.

 


	16. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been months since the death of the Archdemon and now a new threat surfaces.

Solona had never worn so many frilly dresses in her lifetime as she did in the next eight months. Alistair kept her close at court, asking her opinion while he took it upon himself to study up on the finer aspects of ruling a kingdom. She was proud of how far he had come so quickly. The people adored him as he ruled fairly and took the time to get out of the palace and move among them as a human being. So far, there had been no trace of Morrigan, and Solona was not surprised. She had heard vague rumors about a woman matching Morrigan's description, but nothing solid enough to pursue.

One afternoon, she was sitting in her appointed place at Alistair's left elbow when a woman was brought before the court who had short dark hair and wore heavy red steel chainmail. She carried a sword at her hip and a shield on her back and she knelt before the dais. “Your Majesty. I was sent from Amaranthine with a summons for the Warden Commander.”

Solona sat forward. “For me?” she asked. “What is this about?”

The woman started, her eyes flicking to Solona. She was apparently not accustomed to anyone but the king addressing her in court. She stuttered. “The Grey Wardens from Orlais have arrived and they wish for the Warden Commander to be present. That is all I was told.”

Solona glanced at Alistair who frowned. “I was under the impression that Weisshaupt was sending someone to fill in while the _Enchanter to the Throne_ remained in Denerim,” Alistair corrected, using her court title instead of the one that the Wardens had heaped on her.

As the woman lowered her eyes and panicked, not having an answer for them, Solona reached out and rested a hand on Alistair's forearm. “It's okay. There's no harm if I take a few weeks to go sort things out in Amaranthine.”

He pressed his lips together, but when her eyes rolled, he sighed. “Very well. Enchanter Amell will accompany you to Amaranthine.”

The woman dipped her head in thanks and was dismissed, backing out of the throne room. “Why do you think they want me there?” she asked Alistair.

“I don't know, but I don't relish sending you on your own,” he grumbled getting up from his seat and stretching. The fine leathers he wore topped with a light blue doublet brought out the blue of his eyes, even as he narrowed them in suspicion. “I think I might need to prepare a royal welcome for the Orlesian Wardens.”

She pursed her lips and stood as well, the silken dress pooling around her feet. “I doubt its anything nefarious. I _am_ Warden Commander of Ferelden. In all rights, I should be in Amaranthine anyway.”

He chuckled. “But I like it so much better when you're here,” he reminded her, pulling her to him and laying a soft kiss on her lips.

It had been months since they had bothered to attempt hiding their relationship. Far too many chamber maids with loose lips worked in the castle. The cat was out of the bag, as it were, and neither of them saw any reason to be discreet. It made them look like they were doing something wrong. She smiled up at him then tapped his nose with a fingertip. “You can follow along if you wish, but I'm going on ahead. It will take you far too long to assemble an entourage. I can leave this afternoon.”

“Will you be taking horses?” he asked with a raised brow, glancing down at the leg that he knew still gave her trouble.

She snorted. “Do we not recall the disaster in the training ring? I don't do horses.”

“Then me and my slow entourage are likely to beat you there,” he said with a teasing laugh.

“Is that a challenge, Your Majesty?” she asked with a grin.

“Of course it is. May the best man win,” he grinned.

“The best woman,” she corrected and kissed him quickly before turning in her skirts and practically hopping down the dais stairs to rush to her rooms and get her things ready.

 

In a few hours, she was leaving the city with the young woman who had been sent to fetch her. She swore the woman looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. When she attempted conversation, the girl was shy and spoke in stuttering sentences, not really revealing much about herself. Solona felt she knew less about her than she had when she showed up in front of the court. After several attempts, she conceded defeat with a sigh and continued on in silence.

She had been given a shiny new staff as a birthday present from Alistair the previous month, and she carried it with her now, using it as a walking stick whenever the day began to roll towards evening and her leg protested the long hours of walking from dawn. It felt good to be back out in nature, even if it was only for a few days as they traveled the short distance between Denerim and Amaranthine. It also felt good to be out of the bothersome dresses and back in her Warden Armor.

By midday on their fifth day of travel, it had begun to rain and they were approaching Vigil's Keep. It was the main headquarters of the Wardens in Ferelden, where they were meant to rebuild the Order. Her traveling companion had sent word ahead of them when they left Denerim, but as they approached the farmland that provided crops to the Keep, they were greeted with silence. In spite of the rain, there should have been a welcoming party. Solona paused, reaching out with her senses. She had been feeling a strange niggling in the back of her mind, but she had been telling herself it was simply her sensing the other Wardens. The woman stopped with her, interrupting her senses. “What is going on? Why are there no Wardens here to greet us?”

“Something is amiss,” Solona frowned. “There are Darkspawn here.”

“What?!” the woman shrieked as a shout drew their attention back to the road ahead.

Running from under the watch towers at the gates to the Keep, was a man dressed in simple leathers and carrying a mace. He was not using it however, but running for his life as three genlocks chased him down. Solona whipped her staff around, calling her magic to release a blast of energy beyond the fleeing man into the Darkspawn. Her companion drew her sword and shield and rushed past the running man who to his credit stopped and turned to fight when he realized he had back up. She bashed the nearest genlock in the face with her shield as it was still reeling from Solona's spell and knocked it to the ground then she stabbed through it's skull with the point of her sword before twirling around to swipe her sword in an arc, slicing through the next genlock. The third rushed her and Solona shot a shard of ice from the tip of her staff and it whizzed through the short Darkspawn's head, dropping it before it could get to her.

“It's you! The Hero of Ferelden! Oh, thank the Maker!” the terrified man cried, prostrating himself at Solona's feet.

“How did this happen?” she asked, dragging him to his feet. No one needed to bow before her.

“I don't know,” he stuttered. “They came out of nowhere! All I heard were screams and people dying. I got out as fast as I could and ran into these... You need to help them. You need to do something!” he cried.

“Are there any other Wardens alive?” she asked. Clearly this man was not one.

He glanced back at the Keep. “I think there was a mage right behind me. He might have been a Warden, I don't know. I'll see if I can't find some help. There has to be a patrol on the road.”

The man ran off and the woman came to Solona's side. “We don't have a lot of time, Commander.”

Solona glanced at the woman and grinned. “Nice swordwork. You're not just a guide, are you?”

She looked down at her hands and nervously stuttered. “Oh! Pardon me, Commander. I'd assumed proper introductions would be taken care of at the keep. My name is Mhairi, I was a knight in the king's service until I was recruited a fortnight ago, but I haven't taken my Joining yet. The Senechal sent me to bring you back. I was not expecting this!”

Solona glanced around and nodded thoughtfully, realizing now why Mhairi had looked so familiar. “The Darkspawn launched a sneak attack. That's unheard of.”

“This isn't a Blight. How could they be so organized? I don't understand,” Mhairi whimpered.

“Perhaps something else is leading them,” Solona mused, her own thought disturbing her.

“Other than an Archdemon, you mean? Frightening thought,” Mhairi said with a shudder.

“Let's keep moving,” Solona said, dropping the subject and heading for the Keep. She needed to find out more about this attack, if there was anyone alive to tell her.

“Right,” Mhairi agreed. “Let's teach these evil bastards a lesson.” They rescued a few soldiers outside the Keep that were protecting the fields and the small village outside the main building, but no Wardens so far. Once they made their way into the courtyard, battling Darkspawn left and right, Mhairi paused and bent with her hands on her knees. “Unbelievable! The Keep has been overwhelmed! How did the Wardens not sense the Darkspawn coming? I don't understand it!”

Solona grunted her displeasure at having to stop, but she calmly said, “Something strange is definitely going on.”

“For the Darkspawn to have ambushed the Keep so effectively... I didn't know they were capable of such a thing!” Mhairi was breathing heavily and still leaning on her knees. Solona knew a panic attack when she saw one.

She placed a soothing hand on the recruit's shoulder. “I'm going to need your help, here.”

Mhairi looked up, meeting he eyes and nodded. “I hear you, Commander. You can count on me.” She swallowed and stood up straight, readying her weapons.

The main gate was down and there was only one entrance into the keep that was unlocked. Solona could feel the pull of mana on the other side of the door and she pushed it open. Just inside was a tall, gangly mage. He had red-blonde hair pulled half up off his face, the rest left to hang just below his ears. He did not wear circle robes, but he was channeling a blast of fire through his hands, no staff in sight. An apostate maybe? She waited until the Darkspawn he was roasting fell with agonized shrieks, her arms crossed over her chest. She noted the bodies of several Templars also lying on the ground near the Darkspawn. None had been killed by magic though and she cocked a hip. He shook out his hands and turned around to face them, his features familiar. He had been the one who had healed her in Denerim during the battle. Her mouth opened slightly and he cocked his head sheepishly. “Err... I didn't do it,” he shrugged, indicating the dead templars. Then he frowned. “Hey, I recognize you... I know what they've been saying about me, but this? Not my doing...” As he spoke, she realized finally where she recognized his voice from. They had talked for hours, many times while she was an apprentice. “Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest.” He snickered tossing a thumb behind him. “Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down.”

“Anders?!” she asked. She had never seen his face before Denerim, but she certainly knew his voice.

His grin turned to a look of puzzlement before he recognized her voice as well. “Is that you, Amell?”

She nodded and smiled, glad to finally be meeting him face to face as it were. She had wondered what had happened to him in the drama of the Circle. Her boon from the king had lasted a whole two months before the Chantry butted back in on the Circle, First Enchanter Irving folding under the pressure they laid on him to allow the templars back. “Not too fond of them, huh?” she asked with a smirk, indicating the men on the floor.

“Oh, I know, I know. Most people enjoy being kicked in the head to be woken up each morning. Me, I'm just so picky,” he quipped.

Mhairi eyed him cautiously. “An apostate? At Vigil's Keep?”

He turned his attention from Solona, the gold ring in his ear shining in the light and he smiled rougishly. “You weren't here when we arrived. I'm sure I would have remembered such a lovely woman as yourself.” Without skipping a beat, his eyes flicked back to Solona and he continued. “We were just stopping here on our way back to the tower. Just a short rest, they said, and now they're dead. Such a shame,” he feigned a pout.

She snorted, but dropped her defensive stance. She trusted Anders. “Look, we don't have time to discuss this.”

“True,” he said emphatically. “These Darkspawn don't leave much time for chit-chat, do they? Well, tell you what. I'll help you, and we can discuss what comes later... later, once all these bastards are properly put down, yes?”

She wasn't going to turn down help when it was offered, in spite of Mhairi's obvious objections to working alongside a wanted apostate who she was convinced had killed the templars escorting him. Solona knew better. The wounds on the bodies were the work of rusty blades, not magic. The darkspawn had been responsible. All Anders had done was protect himself. They moved through the hallways that made up the entry to the keep, looking for the way to the lever that would lift the portcullis and let them inside. Several servants and civilians had found their way to hiding places and Solona sent them to safety. When she got out to the lever, finally, she pulled it, raising the gate and seeing a group of mixed types of Darkspawn rush from inside the Keep. Across the way on the opposite balcony where she and Mhairi had entered, a dwarf stood alone and unarmed. He shouted at the Darkspawn with sarcasm. “Oh, we're scared now. Don't come over here, Ha!” As the Darkspawn reacted, raising their weapons and running toward the taunting dwarf, a huge explosion rocked the area, blowing them to bits. Solona ducked an arm as it flew over head and the dwarf laughed maniacally. “It'll take more than that to kill us, beasties. Come again if you dare!” Then he ran and disappeared into the door where they'd found Anders.

Solona and her small group climbed down from the balcony and ran down the tunnel that led inside the Keep proper. There were Darkspawn everywhere, but among the bodies and living people she had still yet to see any Wardens. The questions were gnawing at the back of her mind. In the room just past the vestibule, She was greeted by a sight that she had not expected. On a raised platform above the main floor, a group of Darkspawn were surrounding an all too familiar dwarf. When he heard the door open, Oghren's head turned, his distinctive red hair identifying him even before he raised an arm, waving excitedly at her before returning to slicing at the Darkpawn with his axe. She and the others jumped in to lend him a hand and the Darkspawn were dead before Mhairi even had a chance to get up the stairs to his level. Oghren slung his axe over his shoulder and laughed with glee, peering down at them over the railing, leaning both hands on it. “A-ha! There you are! When these Darkspawn showed up, I thought, 'just you wait until the new Commander gets here and you'll all be spitting teeth out of your arses'! Followed the screaming, and sure enough, here you are. Good on ya!”

“Oghren? You're here?” she gaped in wonder. Last she had heard, Oghren was serving in the human army.

“Doubting your eyes, huh?” he said with a chuckle, pushing off the rail. “I get like that, after the fifth bottle or so. Came here thinking I might try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden.”

“He was here when I left,” Mhairi said, her lip curling. “I can't believe the Wardens didn't kick him out.”

Oghren moved to the top of the ramp to lean casually on the pillar and grin, his legs crossed and his hands clasped together in front of him. “Hey! If it isn't the recruit with the great rack!”

“Yes,” she sneered. “A prize for the Wardens, to be sure.”

“I know, I know, too good to be true, right? Hey... who's the mage? Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?” Oghren teased.

Mhairi's fists clenched and Anders crossed his arms. “Wow, a dwarf that smells like a brewery. You never see that anywhere,” he said sarcastically.

Oghren grunted. “Huh, a mage comedian. Thought those usually died young.”

“It's good to see you again,” Solona said, interrupting the insult chain.

“I find that hard to believe,” Anders said, one brow lifting in shock.

“As do I,” Mahiri snarled.

Oghren pushed away from the pole, ignoring them and clenched his fists. “Now let's go introduce some Darkspawn arses to my foot. Only polite thing to do.”

Solona shook her head with an exhalation and climbed the ramp up to him, her leg screaming at all the use she was putting into it, her limp pronounced. “Are you hurt, Amell?” Anders asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. “No. Just a reminder from Denerim.”

“I'll have a look at it later,” he mused as he followed her through the door into the next hall.

They found a soldier in armor similar to Mhairi's and she ran to drop to her knees before him. “Mhairi?” he gasped as he looked up with glassy eyes. The veins in his face stood out stark against his pale skin and Solona cringed. He'd been poisoned by the Darkspawn taint.

“Rowland!” Mhairi cried, pawing him to see his injuries. “Commander, Rowland was a knight recruited from Denerim like me. We must do something for him!”

Anders grunted, realizing what Solona already knew. “He looks beyond healing magic. Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain?”

Oghren let out a soft 'heh' and said, “I like the way you think.”

Mhairi's head shot up and she scowled. “Stop joking! This isn't funny!”

“The... the Commander?” Rowland choked, a small spurt of blood staining his lips.

Solona moved closer and knelt beside him. “I'm here, Rowland. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.”

He shook his head. “We only had a moment's warning before they were on us, Commander.” Each word was forced as if he were in a great deal of pain, but he continued, needing to explain things to her. “The seneschal ordered a counter attack, but they came out of nowhere! There's one with them, a darkspawn who talks. His magic is powerful.” He coughed and hissed, clutching his gut.

“A talking Darkspawn?” Oghren scoffed. “The lad must be delirious.”

Rowland reached out and grabbed Mhairi's hands. “There's something in my blood! It hurts!”

Solona reached out and set a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Hold yourself together, Rowland.”

He sighed and turned his head to smile at her. “It was an honor to meet you, Commander. I wish I could have fought at your side, just once...” His breath caught in his throat and after a few panicked inhalations, his body seized briefly and then he slumped to the side.

Mhairi lowered her head and whispered, “I will avenge you, Rowland, I swear it.” Then she reached out, pulling her hands from his grip and closed his eyes.

Solona pushed to her feet and moved past Mhairi to solemnly push forward. Through the armory and up to the gatehouse, they fought the scattered Darkspawn groups. Solona could tell the difference. Without the Archdemon, the Darkspawn were slower to react, though still a formidable foe. Their group attacks were less fluid without the dragon 'talking' in their ear. There were battlements that circled around the outside of the top of the gatehouse and that was where they found the talking Darkspawn. She rounded a corner to see a soldier backed up the the edge of the stone terrace as the Darkspawn bore down on him. The voice was gruff and it spoke with grammar that made her cringe. “It has ended just as he foretold.” It kicked the man in the chest and he fell with a scream to the ground below. Then it turned, giving Solona a good look at it's face. It was dressed in chainmail that was a finer make than she had ever seen on any Darkspawn. It was bald as any other of the hurlocks, but it had an intelligence behind it's eyes that chilled her to her core. Its lack of lips as the flesh peeled back from it's teeth made it look as if a skeleton were speaking as it's jaw opened and closed. “Be taking this one, gently. We are wishing no more death than is necessary.” it said to another hurlock who had a man on his knees before it. It's fingers were wrapped in his silver hair and a blade was at his throat.

He boldly spoke as the hurlock threatened his life. “Necessary? As if your kind has ever done anything else!”

“You are thinking you know of our kind, human? It is understandable. But that will soon be changed,” the thing said.

“Others will come, creature. They will stop you!” the man threatened.

Mhairi rushed forward, exposing them. “There it is!” she cried.

The Darkspawn both turned to look at the interruption and Solona sighed, following her onto the rounded corner of the terrace. “It seems your words be true, more than you are guessing,” the creature said to the man with a cock of it's head.

“It is talking!” Anders gasped in wonder. She could see his scholar's mind racing as hers was.

“Well, let's shut it up already!” Oghren growled.

“Commander!” the man with the sword to his throat shouted in warning before his words were stopped by the blade pressing closer to his flesh.

“Capture the Grey Warden. These others, they may be killed.,” the talker ordered.

The hurlock dropped the man and proceeded to attack them instead. Solona jumped into action, buying them time with a wall of ice. Anders brandished a staff he had found in the armory. Small fireballs shot from the ends as he twirled it. Solona picked up the talker in her spirit fist and slammed it multiple times into the ground, crushing it under the weight of her magic. Anders finished off the other and she shattered her own ice wall to rush to the man's side. He was still alive and barely had a scratch on him. “Commander, I owe you my life,” he said standing and brushing himself off. Something caught his eye below and he squinted. “Hmm... soldiers on the road. It seems we have more company. Hopefully they're more hospitable than our previous guests.”

Solona had an idea she knew who was approaching and they went as a group back through the keep to meet them on the road. As Alistair and his entourage approached, she dropped to a knee, formally greeting the king as was proper, and the man she'd saved mirrored her. “It looks like I arrived a bit late,” he said with a grin as she stood. “Too bad. I rather miss the whole Darkspawn killing thing.”

“King Alistair,” Mhairi gasped, dropping belatedly in her own kneel.

“I'd wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome. I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?” Alistair asked.

“What Darkspawn remained have fled, Your Majesty. The Grey Wardens who had arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead or... missing.” the silver haired man said formally reporting his knowledge of the situation.

“Missing?” Alistair asked in surprise. “As in taken by the Darkspawn? Do they even do that?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty. I know only that we cannot account for all the Wardens,” he added.

“I see,” he said with a frown. When he turned his gaze on her, it softened. “And are you all right, love? You weren't hurt in the battle, were you?”

“I'm fine, Alistair, but this makes things difficult,” she said, realizing that she was going to need to stay until things were figured out.

“That's a bit of an understatement, isn't it?” he asked with a chuckle. “You have quite the task ahead of you. Really I'd like to help you fight Darkspawn, but you're on your own for the moment.” He sighed.

“Hey! What am I? Chopped nug livers?” Oghren butted in loudly.

“From the smell, that's not a bad guess,” Anders mumbled loudly enough to be heard over the rain that was still coming down steadily.

“I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands! Where's the giant cup? I'll gargle and spit!” Oghren said heatedly.

“You're not allowed to spit,” Solona reminded him with a smirk, crossing her arms.

He grunted a short laugh. “That's what I always say...”

“I... suppose all are welcome, in this dire time,” Mhairi said uneasily.

“Joining the Wardens, hey? Well good luck with that,” Anders chuckled.

A woman pushed from the middle of Alistair's entourage and her stern face twisted in a scowl. She was wearing templar plate and Solona had to take a step back as her rage seeped from her in waves. “King Alistair! Your Majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal!”

Alistair frowned and said mockingly, “Oh, the dwarf is a bit of an arse, but I wouldn't go that...”

Anders interrupted with a sigh. “She means me...”

The woman shot daggers at him with her eyes. “This is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!”

Anders scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again, anyhow,” he mocked.

“Never! I will see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!” she shouted.

“Murderer?” Anders took a step back. “But those templars were... oh, what's the use? You won't believe me anyhow.”

Alistair sighed and glanced at Solona who was panicking. She couldn't let Anders be hanged. “It seems there isn't much to say, unless... you have something to add, _Commander_?”

He emphasized her title and the idea sprung to life in her head. “I do,” she said boldly, her own expression knifing the angry templar. “I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens.”

“What? Never!” the templar shouted as Alistiar nodded slightly so only she saw.

“I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no? I will allow it,” he announced.

With a look of pure hatred, the woman backed down. “If... if your Majesty feels it is best...” then she spun on her heel and retook her place in the ranks.

“Ha!” Oghren shouted. “Way to go, kid. Welcome aboard!”

“Me? A Grey Warden?” Anders asked, looking at Solona in question. She smiled and nodded. “I guess that will work...”

“Congratulations, ser mage. I look forward to fighting at your side,” Mhairi said with a tip of her head.

“Then if you have everything under control, I will need to take my leave,” Alistair said with a sigh.

“I believe the estate has been secured, yes,” the silver haired man said with a bow. “We have suffered great losses, but the Darkspawn are gone and there are survivors. Oh...” he said as if something had just occurred to him. “excuse my manners.” he turned to Solona and said. “I am Varel, seneschal of Vigil's Keep. And I am most grateful for your timely rescue, Commander. I will aide you in ruling the lands of Amaranthine.”

Solona balked, holding up her hands. “This arling belongs to the Wardens, not me.”

He grinned. “But as Commander of the Grey, you are the equivalent of our arlessa, as well.” She felt her shoulders slump as she turned a dispirited glance to Alistair who only shrugged. “Come and speak to me soon. There are many matters to attend to, not the least of which is the Joining. You will need to replenish your numbers.” With that he bowed and led the others off, leaving her with Alistair and his people.

“I hate having to ask you to do this, love,” he said softly as he stepped closer to her. “It'd be so much more interesting to keep you at court...”

“You sure you won't change your mind and stay?” she pleaded.

He chuckled, his knuckles brushing her cheek. “Sadly, I need to deal with trouble in the Bannorn, but I will return as soon as I'm able. I promise. It will be up to _you_ to deal with the vestiges of the Blight before the situation grows out of control. No easy task, but I am confident you are up to it. Now let me say a quick goodbye before I change my mind.”

He leaned in and they shared a deep kiss as his guard and the templars pretended not to see anything. She made it as long as she could, certain that it was the last kiss for quite some time and she wished to savor it. When he pulled away slowly, stealing several shorter kisses after, she playfully slapped his cheek. “You rotten king.”

He laughed, shoving her lightly away from him. “Go be Arlessa already...”

She backed up a few steps, loathe to turn her back on him as he moved his hands in a shooing motion. Finally she turned on her heel and sauntered off blowing him a kiss over her shoulder. The afternoon was spent cleaning up the Keep and accounting for those dead or missing. It was not as huge a task as Denerim had been, but it was still a very sad task. As dusk crept over the Keep, she found herself in the main hall, standing on ceremony as Alistair had for her Joining. Her three recruits, Oghren, Anders and Mhairi stood in a row each of them looking several different degrees of nervous or excited. Varel stood before them, having taken on the duty of mixing up the draught in the chalice and then handing it over to her to cast the magic into it. Now his hands were behind his back as her's were while he spoke. “Right now, I know of only one living Warden assigned to all of Ferelden. That should be rectified. The others could aid you considerably. The time has come for us to begin the Joining.”

When he turned to pick up the Chalice, she stepped forward, realizing he was unaware of part of the ceremony. She cleared her throat and spoke. “I shall speak the words that have been said since the first...” She lowered her head and spoke from memory, the words that Alistair had recited before she took on the taint. No single chant had ever stuck with her as that one had. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

When she finished, she looked up, meeting each of their gazes before nodding to Varel. He stepped forward then with the goblet and offered it up to Oghren. Solona took a moment to be concerned for her friend, but she swallowed the fear as Varel said, “From this moment forth, Oghren, you are a Grey Warden.”

Oghren took the cup that was comically large in his hands and grunted. “What's this? The sampler size? Are you trying to say something about my height, eh?”

Varel frowned and Solona moved to cover her smile with her fingers. “Err... this is the goblet we've always used,” Varel said.

“Really?” Oghren asked looking to Solona for confirmation and then shrugging. “huh...” He tipped the goblet back and when he swallowed, where she remembered agonizing pain, he belched as his eyes went momentarily white and he smacked his lips together. “Not bad...” Then he proceeded to fall to the ground, passing out and snoring.

Varel sighed. “Maker help us all.” They left Oghren where he lay for the moment, as Varel moved to Anders. “From this moment forth, Anders, you are a Grey Warden.”

“So, we need to drink Darkspawn blood? That's it?” he asked, taking the cup from Varel and turning it so his lips wouldn't touch where Oghren's had.

“That is it, yes,” Varel confirmed with a nod.

“Well all right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you,” he said with a smirk at Solona. Then he took a sip from the goblet and handed it back to Varel. In a few moments, he clutched his head and a split second of panic gripped her before he gasped and fell to the ground.

“He lives, Commander, and will awaken in time,” Varel said, kneeling to take Anders' pulse. Finally it was Mhairi's turn. Varel recited his words. “From this moment forth, Mhairi, you are a Grey Warden.”

“I have awaited this moment,” she said inhaling deeply to steel herself.

Solona knew the second she swallowed that Mhairi would not survive. She coughed and sputtered, the veins on her forehead popping out as she fought to breathe. She dropped to her knees and Solona cringed, as she clutched her throat. “I am sorry, Mhairi,” she whispered, knowing that the woman had so badly wished to become a Warden.

“May the Maker watch over you now,” Varel sighed, setting the goblet down on the table behind him. He and a few guards took her body away and then relocated Oghren and Anders until they awoke. Solona carefully prepared their pendants, fingering her own that she still wore. Soon, Varel returned to her and sighed. “Poor Mhairi.”

Solona set the pendants aside and stood. “What is on the agenda now?”

Varel smiled. “Tonight, get some rest. In the morning, we have the new Captain of the guard as well as a treasurer sent from Weisshaupt by order of the First Warden, both with news and leads as to things that need to be handled in the Arling.”

“Good... right...uh...” she wrung her hands and bit her lip. “Have I mentioned I know nothing about being an Arlessa?”

He chuckled. “From what I understand, Commander you have been acting Queen of Ferelden in all but name for the last eight months. I should think Amaranthine will be a walk in the park.”

“Your confidence is inspiring,” she said rolling her eyes. He showed her to her quarters and when he left, she closed to door behind him and purposefully bumped her head into the wood. “Maker's balls,” she cursed.

 

The next morning, she was up with the dawn, sitting in her throne and sipping tea as Varel, her guard captain and the treasurer all argued over which of the problems should be dealt with first. It was a situation she was accustomed to watching from the sidelines as Alistair quietly listened to the advisors bicker, retaining every side to every argument while he worked out his own solution in his head only interrupting when he had something useful to say. It seemed to work for him, so she leaned back and swallowed the bitter tea, wishing she had sugar. From what she gathered, Caravans on the Pilgrim's Path were being attacked apparently by Darkspawn, some hunters had stumbled upon a crater in the ground that may or may not lead to the Deep Roads, and one of the Orlesian Wardens had been out in the field during the attack and might still be alive. When she individually questioned each of them about their problems, they all pointed her towards the city. “So I'm off to Amaranthine, It seems,” she said, setting her cup down and standing from the hard wooden chair. “I might as well kill three birds with one stone,” she shrugged when they gaped at her dismissal.

“As you say, Commander,” Varel said with a slight smirk, recovering before the others. She was going to like Varel. She could tell. He was an older man, with a good head on his shoulders and he had no room for bullshit. As long as she was straight with him, he would stick by her. She left the throne room to gather her things and check on her two new Wardens.

She ran into Oghren first who was settling into his new armor and grumbled about being up so early after the night he had had. It must have been strange for a dwarf to suddenly be able to dream. She left him to his devices and sought out Anders. He was in a chipper mood, greeting her with a grin as he pulled his Warden Hauberk down over his thin torso. “You know, until I saw you yesterday, I never put together that the Solona Amell I met in the Tower was actually the Hero of Ferelden. What a small world this is.”

“You saved my life in Denerim. I should thank you,” she said leaning on the short dresser by the door to the barracks and crossing her arms and ankles.

He scoffed. “It was nothing.” His light brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did I see you snogging the king yesterday?”

“What of it?” she asked with a shrug, her cheeks flushing lightly as she picked up a book on the dresser behind her to flip casually through the pages.

“Oh, nothing. It's adorable,” he chuckled. “Little Amell is all grown up and wearing her big girl robes. Speaking of which, I love these uniforms. Look... pants.”

She laughed. “A miracle of fashion, I know. I've had mine enchanted.”

“Hmm, Enchanted pants. Now there's an idea,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “So I assume we have things to do?” he asked.

“I was going to head into the city today. My 'advisors' all seem to think I can get a feel for the situation if I make a few contacts,” she said, rolling her eyes. She pushed away from the dresser, setting the book down. “You're welcome to join. Did they give you a staff?”

“You mean other than the one I found and borrowed yesterday?” he snorted. “No. They seemed to overlook that.”

She shrugged. “We'll set you up. The crown has given us a small fortune to spend as we see fit. I think a few sovereigns on a staff won't break us.”

“Oh, the 'crown' has given...?” he teased tying his short hair back like he had it the day before, the small nub of a ponytail not holding much back from his face. “Is that what you call him between the sheets?”

She picked the book back up and threw it at him as he laughed uproariously. “You cretin.”

“And now you're stuck with me. Regretting your decision?” he asked rubbing his arm where the book had hit him.

“Not yet. You've met Oghren, right? What could be worse than him?” she said shrugging.

“Quite the dirty little dwarf isn't he?” Anders said, still grinning.

“You get used to him. I'll meet you out in the courtyard. I want to see how things are progressing in the village,” she said, tossing her thumb behind her.

“I'm starving. I'm going to grab a bite if I have time,” he agreed. “Where's the kitchens?”

She flapped her hand toward where she thought the kitchens were. “Welcome to being a new warden. You'll be hungry constantly.”

“Good thing I get plenty of exercise,” he grinned. “I'll see you out there.”

 

Nearly as soon as she stepped under the portcullis into the market area on the keep grounds, she was greeted by a young woman who seemed a bit flabberghasted to see her. “Blimey, Commander of the Grey.” She saluted with her fist over her chest and then proceeded to fish through a pouch full of scrolls that she was carrying and then rattled off more news for Solona. Apparently there was a prisoner in her dungeon.

She thanked the woman, skimming over the messages and headed in the direction she had been pointed in to get to the dungeons. Compared to the maze of dungeons that Arl Howe had maintained in Denerim, this was tame. It was barely a cell in a small one room jail. A guard stood by a chest, likely packed with the prisoner's things. The man in the cell sat with one leg pulled up and the other tucked beneath it. His one arm rested in his lap, the other on top of the raised knee. When she stepped in, his gray eyes followed her intently from behind strands of his long black hair that fell over his face. He was dressed in clearly borrowed clothing, a set of leather armor peeking out of the chest. She regarded his well built physique and studious glare with curiosity before approaching the guard. “Ah, Commander! Good thing you're here. This one's been locked up three nights, now.” The guard said with a sneer. “Good men died while this one was protected in his cell.”

“Who is he?” she asked as they approached the cell door to look in at the man still casually sitting on the ground watching them.

“He won't give his name. All I know is he was caught poking around the estate in the middle of the night. I'd say he was just a thief, but it took four Grey Wardens to capture him.” Solona crossed her arms and raised her brows, impressed. “You best be careful. Whoever he is, he's no ordinary burglar, that's for sure.”

“Leave me to talk with him,” Solona said waving the guard off, curious if the man would talk for her. He seemed to have a great interest in her. His eyes hadn't left her since she'd entered.

“As you wish, Commander. I'll tell the Seneschal you came. He'll want to know what you decide to do with this man.” The guard left and Solona plucked the cell keys from the wall. She wanted to speak with him without bars between them. When he saw her opening the door, he slowly stood, but did not get any closer.

When she had pushed the door open, she purposefully took her staff from her back and stood with it before her as a warning. They were on equal ground, but if he made any false moves, she would drop him in a heartbeat. He watched her closely and then crossed his arms as a show of casualness and so his hands weren't free. A single brow arched and he spoke in a deep and gruff tone. “If it isn't the great hero. Conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil. Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?”

She snorted, “The Darkspawn probably think so.”

He sighed and shrugged. “Somehow, I just thought that my father's murderer would be... more impressive... I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even remember my father?” His tone turned spiteful.

The realization of who he was made her stop and think. Howe was an evil man, but not all children turned out like their parents. She again found her eyes sizing him up and she sighed. “Ah. So you're the Arl's son. Now it makes sense.”

“My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost _everything_. I came here...” his arms dropped to his sides, but the gesture was not threatening. “I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you. But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left.” His head hung low as his gaze finally left her, all fight gone from him.

The broken expression tugged on her heartstrings. “I'm sorry. What happened was unfortunate.”

He looked up again, insulted. “Unfortunate? Yes, I guess it was 'unfortunate' for everyone, wasn't it? Look I know you're a hero. You fought a war and you won, and to the victor go the spoils, right? Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howe's are pariahs now, those of us left. It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?”

“I understand we had trouble capturing you,” she said pressing her lips together as she thought, realizing that he had barely a mark on him for being brought down by four Wardens.

He crossed his arms again. “I am not without skills. My time abroad wasn't spent chasing skirts and drinking wine,” he snapped haughtily.

“Do you really hate me so much?” she wondered. He was speaking amiably enough even after threatening her life.

“The Darkspawn are a menace. If it weren't for the Blight, maybe my father would never have... done what he did. But I can't do anything about them, can I? There's just you and the Grey Wardens, here in my home,” he grunted angrily.

An idea was forming in her head and she was absolutely considering it. “Perhaps you should work to redeem your name,” she said, twisting her staff between to fingers thoughtfully.

He scoffed. “You're right. I'll go join King Alistair's service immediately. He'd be certain to give a Howe another chance!” he said sarcastically.

“What will you do if I let you go?” she wondered.

He balked and she was glad to have thrown him for a loop. She had the upper hand. “If you let me go? I... don't know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago. If you let me go, I'll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time.”

“You're not making the best case for yourself,” she chuckled.

“I could lie, if you prefer,” he said with a frown.

She grinned and put her staff back in it's place. “I've decided what to do with you.”

Just as she was about to close the door again, the guard returned with Varel. “I brought the seneschal for you, Commander.”

“I see you've spoken to our guest. Quite the handful, isn't he? Have you decided what's to be done with him?” Varel asked.

She tossed a thumb at Nathaniel and said, “Did you know this is Nathaniel Howe?”

“A Howe?” Varel gasped. “It figures that they would turn up again. The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander.”

She smirked, glancing back at Nathaniel and said, “I wish to invoke the Right of Conscription.”

“You what?” Nathaniel grunted in surprise.

“I'm sorry, Commander...” Varel said as if he hadn't heard her properly. “The Right of Conscription? On the prisoner?”

“No! Absolutely not! Hang me, first!” Nathaniel said, making the guard reach for his sword as he jerked toward them.

“You don't think this is better than dying?” Solona asked.

“Hard to say,” he mused, crossing his arms. “You like having Grey Wardens who want you dead?”

She shrugged. “Some of my best friends have wanted me dead.”

“You really want a Howe as a Grey Warden?” he asked one final time and when she nodded, he shook his head. “You are a very strange woman.” He sighed. “I can't decide if this is a vote of confidence or punishment.”

“An... interesting decision, Commander.” Varel said. “Come with me, ser. We'll see if you survive the Joining.”

Solona followed Varel inside, gathering Anders as he was going out the door. They both attended Howe's Joining and Solona showed him the finer points of the process. Each Warden should know the ritual. Nathaniel lived and Anders accompanied her on the rest of her rounds of the village while he recovered. She wished to take all of her recruits with her into the city, Nathaniel included.

She paid a dwarf named Voldrik a hefty sum to be certain the damage to the keep was repaired to dwarven standards, enlisted the best armorer in Denerim to begin making better gear for her soldiers, and was informed that the Darkspawn had likely come up from the cellars of the keep that went extremely deep. She promised the Sergeant that she would return shorty if they could clear the rubble and she and the other Wardens would check it out in case there were more Darkspawn lurking about.

As they passed a statue of Andraste just outside the keep, Anders whistled loudly making her pause to see who he was catcalling. “Look at that!” he exclaimed his arms spread to encompass the statue. She cocked her head and really looked at the statue. They seemed to be everywhere around Amaranthine, but this one was particularly well crafted, making her face seem almost real. Solona crossed her arms, pressing her lips together in an impressed expression. He turned to her and raised a brow. “Was Andraste really that much of a looker? Don't you think she would have been, I don't know, a barbarian?”

Solona shrugged. “It's just a statue.”

“Sure,” he agreed patting her back. “But Andraste was a real person once. Before she up and married the Maker, I mean.” He sighed and glanced back at the statue. “What would she have thought of the Circle of Magi... forcing mages to fight demons or be made Tranquil?”

Andraste had fought against mages, but it had not been for subjugation. “She'd probably be confused by it,” Solona said thoughtfully as she remembered back to the temple of sacred ashes and the spirits who had given her the riddles, and the guardian himself. There was magic in her own burial ground. She touched the feet of the statue, reverently.

“No doubt you're right. Seems to me that Andraste counseled men to seek their own path to the Maker. But the Chantry uses her words as a reason to collar us just for being who we are,” he spat angrily, the area around them heating slightly as his magic flared. Steam rippled from his shoulders as he took a breath, the rain still drizzling down giving him an aura. He hated the Circle even more than she had.

“I completely agree,” she said, laying a calming hand on his upper arm.

His distant gaze snapped back to the present at her touch and he chuckled. “Says the fellow mage.” Another lighter sigh and he said. “Oh well. She's still quite a looker, for a prophet. I'm just saying.” He shrugged out from under her hand and headed for the keep where she needed to gather Nathaniel and Oghren to go to the cellars.

Anders waited in the throne room where Varel informed her that they would need to hold a ceremony for the lords and ladies of Amaranthine to swear fealty to her. At this rate, she was never going to get out of the keep and into the city. She scratched that from her agenda for the day and decided to settle in at the keep before leaving. Too much needed to be done. She found Nathaniel sitting on the edge of a cot in the barracks. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently, not wishing to startle him.

Still his head jerked up and he regarded her. In spite of the Joining and the uncertainty of his future, his eyes still held their dark and calculating stare, and he set it on her then. “Was there something you needed. I'm not in the mood for a chat.”

She rolled her eyes. “We were going into the basements to see if the Darkspawn truly tunneled up through there. I thought you'd like to come and see if there was anything of your family's in storage.”

He pulled his head back in surprise, his back straightening. “You trust me at your back?”

“You're a Warden now, Nathaniel,” she said stepping closer and sitting on the cot opposite his. “I'm giving you this chance to prove that you are better than your father. You choose how this goes. Not me.” When he simply stared at her, his head cocking in question, she slapped her palms down on her knees and stood back up with a sigh. “So what is your weapon? The armory is down the hall. We're heading out in 30 minutes.”

She moved to leave him alone, “Wait!” She paused and turned to regard him. He had stood without her even hearing it. When she didn't flinch, his shoulders slumped and he looked embarrassed. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Solona,” she offered casually. “My friends don't use my title.” She offered the olive branch and before he could answer, she said, “And you're welcome,” before leaving him to ponder.

She found Oghren in the kitchens where a large wine barrel had been tapped and nestled in the corner. He was filling his mug and she approached him with a grin, knowing he fought better drunk anyhow. Before she could say a word he spun with a shout of alarm, his eyes bugging out of their sockets. “W-who's there?”

She held up her palms and giggled at his expression. “Did I startle you?”

“I was... er, I was just keeping my nose to the dust, watching out for... the schleets...” he whispered conspiratorially, his eyes darting around the kitchen. This she had to hear. “One of the lads here told me about the schleets... said they're common in Ferelden. They... they lie on the ground, looking like ordinary pairs of pants, until you turn around. That's when they... strike.”

“Oh, _those_ schleets,” Solona said crossing her arms with a nod. Anders had likely been the 'lad' that Oghren was referring to. Enchanted pants indeed.

“Right! Right, you've heard of them!” Oghren said excitedly, sloshing some of the liquid from his mug as he gestured. “Pants that eat your eyeballs! After they're done with you, they just... wander off on their unnatural pant-legs.”

She grinned. “Oh, you weren't told the best part?” she whispered.

“Best part?” he asked nervously.

“It lays eggs in your empty eye sockets,” she warned.

He scoffed. “Come on, what kind of moron to you think I am? Schleets don't lay eggs. That's preposterous. Yeah, thought to fool me, did you? Ha!” He turned back to the cask and grumbled something incoherent and she shrugged. It had been worth a try. Anders was apparently better at being convincing than she was.

“Well, if you're up for it, I've been informed that there might be Darkspawn in the cellars,” she informed him.

“Point me at em, Warden. I could do with pummeling something,” he grunted.

“Meet us outside in 20,” she called over her shoulder, already leaving to gather her things.

 

Down in the cellars, the men were just finishing up clearing the rubble from the bombs that the dwarf she'd seen setting them off had caused. Solona's skin itched and the others looked at her with varying degrees of unease. “It's the Darkspawn,” she explained. “You feel them, don't you? After a while, the feeling will become something you can control to a degree. It's the nightmares that I can't ever seem to get under control.” Even with the Archdemon dead, she still got terrible nightmares every now and again, which Alistair's presence always seemed to help with. She had a feeling it was going to be a long few months without him.

“Now she tells us,” Anders said with a grin and a roll of his eyes. “You're a piece of work, Amell.”

“Hey, I saved your life. You're welcome,” she grunted, elbowing him. He was clutching the staff she had gotten for him like it was a lifeline. “Let's go plug a hole.”

They descended the stairs into the cellars and Solona realized just where Howe had been hiding his extra torture chambers. She kept a close eye on Nathaniel as he absorbed the signs of his father's extra curricular activities. She fought the urge to comfort him, knowing it would likely not be accepted.

The first chamber was lined with Avvar statues covered in the spray of blood and ichor. Bodies of both Darkspawn and soldiers lined the floor. At the far end of the room there was a Mabari hound, curled up into a ball and breathing heavily. She rushed to the dog's side and calmly touched it's matted fur. A few soothing words calmed the dog and it shuddered and allowed her to search it for wounds. In her search, she came across a small scroll that had been attached to it's collar. She unrolled it and saw that it was a note pleading for help from folks that were deeper in the cellars past the crypt. “Adria!” Nathaniel gasped with concern as he read the name at the bottom. “She was like a mother to me, we need to save her.”

Solona agreed with a nod, regretting they could do nothing for the dog. She gave it one final regretful pat and spoke soothing words as she touched her palm to it's chest and sent a short bolt of lightning through it to stop it's heart. Cringing, she stood and led them onward. The deeper they got, the worse Howe looked. Outside the crypt entrance, there were cells full of cowering prisoners surrounded by the less fortunate ghouls that were trying to get at them. They took down the ghouls as they had the Darkspawn in the two previous chambers and Solona hunted for the keys to the cell to let the frightened men go. In her search, she came across some letters by Nathaniel's sister and she handed them over. With a half smile he grudgingly thanked her and tucked them in his pouch. After freeing the prisoners, they checked the crypt to be certain none of the Darkspawn had gotten in to desecrate the dead.

Mounted above one of the Howe sarcophagi, was a finely crafted bow made from ancestral wood. She reached up and carefully took it down, noting the small crack in the wood from time. She placed it gently in Nathaniel's hands and he reverently ran his fingers over the crack. “Is this what I think it is?” he whispered. “It is! That's the Howe crest burned into the wood right there. This is my grandfather's bow.” He paused and then corrected himself. “Or, rather, my grandfather was the last to use it. It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches.”

“Well, it's yours now,” she said with a smile. He had come from the armory with a bow and it was only right for him to be able to reclaim a family heirloom instead of using the plain, unimpressive bows that were supplied to the wardens.

“Thank you,” he said much more sincerely this time. “It's good to have a part of my family's legacy again, something to be proud of.”

They hurried out of the crypt, but his good mood was shattered in the next room when they discovered the source of the cave in and a slew of ghouls meandering about in the rubble, Adria among them. The woman ran for Solona and before Oghren could cut her down, an arrow whizzed through the air and planted itself in her brain. In a matter of seconds, the rest of the ghouls fell to more hastily shot off arrows. Hasty, but no less deadly. She allowed the others to go while she spoke with Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik about how to go about fixing the hole in their basement. Voldrik suggested tunneling further to find the true source, because it was likely the Deep Roads themselves. She took his advice and the Sergeant promised to let her know when they were finished digging so she and the others could handle whatever Darkspawn might be waiting.

Back outside, the sun had finally attempted to show it's face, but was quickly pushed aside for more rain. Solona, Anders and Oghren were exploring the village before it was time for her to hold her ceremony and she happened upon a soaking wet orange tabby cat that was hiding under a tree. She knelt by the tree, attempting to coax it out with some food. “Oh, look at the cute widdle kitty,” Anders gushed, kneeling beside her.” The cat responded to his voice and slowly stepped out from under the tree and mewed sweetly. He picked it up and set it in his lap where it huddled against him for warmth. “There was a mouser in the tower named Mr. Wiggums. Only company I had when the templars locked me up. Aside from you of course... Miss that beast a lot, sometimes. But I can't keep a cat. We fight Darkspawn for a living.” He moved to set the cat back down and she grabbed his arm.

“He can stay at the keep, then,” she insisted.

Anders cocked a single brow and looked at her. “I suppose...” The cat mewed again and he glanced down at him and scratched between his ears. “Well, I'll keep him just for a while. Until I find somewhere safer. Is that okay with you, kitty?” He cooed. It mewed as he lifted it up and then it settled down on his shoulder, wrapping it's tail around his neck. “I'll call you Ser Pounce-a-lot! You can stay in my pack. Just for a little while, yes.”

She grinned and stood. “Let's get out of this rain. Ser Pounce-a-lot could use some food,” she agreed, reaching out a finger to the cat who batted playfully at her from Anders' shoulder.

 


	17. Into the Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona finds some clues in Amaranthine, and then heads to Kal'Hirol.

Solona was up with the sun the next morning. She wanted to get out of the Keep and into the city before she could be waylaid any further. After finding Ser Pounce-a-lot, they had all gone inside and she had been forced to sit for hours and listen to Maker knew how many local nobles pledge loyalty to her. These people had all been loyal to Howe at one point or another, and true to form, one young lady sought her out, whispering of a conspiracy against her. Without the proof the woman promised, Solona could not act. She had to wait it out. She promised her sparse soldiers would be spread out among the arling as best as she was able, leaving the logistics to Varel.

She roused the others, finding Nathaniel already up. Within an hour, they were walking along the muddy road toward the city. After all of the action she had seen recently, and the rain that had plagued Amaranthine thus far, Solona's leg was giving her trouble. Blessedly, the rain had seemed to decide it wanted a break, and the sun was peeking through the clouds as they followed the road. Anders held back, lingering beside her as Oghren and Nathaniel walked ahead, trading jabs. Nathaniel's well guarded humor had shown itself at supper the previous night as Oghren had tried to rile him up about his father and he had turned the conversation in his favor with a barely there smirk. They strolled along at their easy pace and Anders inhaled a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head and jostling Ser Pounce-a-lot from his place on his shoulder. The cat hopped to the ground and twirled around Solona's legs forcing her to pause and scratch his head before continuing on. Anders' voice broke the peaceful silence of the morning. “Ah, can you smell that? That is the smell of freedom... It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too.”

“You really don't care for the Circle of Magi, do you?” Solona asked as Ser Pounce-a-lot chased after a butterfly as it flitted across the road ahead.

“I escaped from the tower seven times. After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year, as you know,” he said with a sigh, conjuring a small fireball in his palm and bouncing it back and forth between his hands. “Eventually, I'm sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me.”

Solona watched his features go distant as he relived his experiences. “Was the Circle so bad?” she asked, having hated it there herself, but not having any real reason to put herself through what he had to be free.

“You know as well as I do, don't you?” he said, the fireball growing slightly before he snuffed it out with a closed fist. “The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It's like you need permission to be alive. There's nothing a mage can do to prove himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you. The end.”

Solona knew that feeling all too well. “I can sympathize,” she agreed, pulling her staff to use as a walking stick through the mud that kept trying to suck her boots off her feet.

He turned a grin on her. “I should certainly hope so.” Then he sighed, the grin fading. “All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools.”

She snorted, and jokingly nudged him. “Sounds reasonable.”

His grin reappeared and he chuckled, “See? I knew you understood. Never mind me. Now and again I recall that I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile, that's all.” His arm snaked around her shoulders and he gave her a short half hug before pulling away. Ser Pounce-a-lot returned to them and jumped up into Anders' arms where he climbed up to lounge like a scarf around his neck. Solona had never seen a cat behave quite like that one.

They approached the city, the small village outside the battlements of the main gate their first destination. The hunters that had discovered the possible entrance to the deep roads were waiting just outside the closest house to the gates. One was a scruffy looking man with bright red hair and exaggerated features. The other was an elf, blonde and quiet. Solona approached them and the red head's eyes slid up and down her as she crossed her arms at the scrutiny. In spite of her entourage and her clothing, he still felt the need to brazenly express his crudeness. “Looking for some company, honey-pie? I am always available for riveting conversations with fine women.”

She felt Anders' magic flare as he took insult on her behalf, and a shifting of leather and a grunt told her that Nathaniel had reached for his bow. For someone who had wanted her dead just the day before, he was quick to defend her honor. She narrowed her own eyes and said, “I'll rivet you to the floor if you call me that again.”

Instead of feeling threatened, the man grinned and continued to leer. “I like a woman who's all business.”

“I'm here to talk about Darkspawn,” she continued, more than willing to ignore his wandering eyes.

“Oh,” he said, drawing the vowel further than necessary. “You're one of those Grey Wardens. You find some Darkspawn and sure enough, the Grey Wardens come knocking... I can't take all the credit for finding the rift, you know. Micah here fell in first,” he pointed to the elf who flushed in embarrassment.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, gesturing him to continue.

“It's quite a ways out of town. We were tracking a buck off in that direction, you see... before this Darkspawn mess. We'd been on his tail for about a week at that point. I'd wager he thought it was great fun, leading us on a merry chase as he did.”

“And the chasm...?” she led, his earlier leering making her uninterested in his side story.

“Oh, the chasm! Yes, er... we saw it coming over a rise. It really was something to behold, a huge cleft, as though the Maker Himself had cracked the earth in two, like... like an egg.”

“I like eggs,” the elf said dully with a small smile.

“It looked like someone had tried to build over it, but it must have been abandoned a long time ago. No one in town knew about it,” the hunter explained with a frown at his companion.

“What happened then?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well, of course we had to investigate! That was when Micah fell in. A shriek like you wouldn't believe, and he was gone,” the hunter narrated dramatically.

“Earth crumbled. Not stable,” the elf agreed, crossing his arms.

“Right, and as Micah lay there yelling about his knee or his head or what have you, the Darkspawn appeared...” he paused dramatically but before she could urge him forward, he continued. “They seemed... occupied, like they had some place really important they had to be. Didn't notice us at all. Thank the Maker.”

Solona frowned, her arms dropping to her sides and Anders spoke her disbelief. “The Darkspawn were so occupied as to overlook two screaming, injured men? Boggles the mind.”

“I marked the chasm on my map so we could avoid it, but it sounds like you want to know where it is, so here you go,” the red head held out a small crumpled map and she took it, opening it to look at the location. “So... are we getting anything for our trouble?” he asked hopefully as she folded the map and tucked it in her pocket. She reached for her purse and flipped him a gold coin. “A whole Sovereign? If there's ever a reason to fall into a Darkspawn pit, here it is. Maker bless you.” He tipped his head in thanks.

That was one lead followed up on, but it led to more questions that she could only answer by heading to the chasm itself and investigating. They left the hunters and made their way into the city. By Denerim standards, Amaranthine was small, but it was no less impressive. The buildings were older and taller than most in Denerim and they surrounded darkened streets as they towered over them, blocking most of the sun from the merchants stands laid out around the district. Solona made her way around, looking for the man who had information on the trouble on the Pilgrim's Path as well as browsing some of the stalls along the street. As they passed by a bakery, Nathaniel gasped and gripped her arm. “Just a moment,” he said in shock as he dropped his grip and went into the store. Inside, he spoke to a woman who had to be related to him in some way. The resemblance was uncanny. She jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly and Solona moved across the street to give him some time while Anders was hailed by a small dark skinned elven woman.

He touched Solona's elbow to nod her to follow and she did, lingering behind as the woman spoke. “Oy! About time you showed up!” she said grumpily as she took in his attire and narrowed her eyes at Solona.

“Namaya?” Anders said in mild shock. “You're still here?”

“ _I_ keep my promises,” she said pointedly. “Here, turns out you were right. The cache is here in Amaranthine.” she offered him a small slip of paper.

“It is?” he gasped. “You found it?” He glanced at Solona and smiled.

“I did,” the woman agreed. “What you do with that information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages.” She glanced at Solona and sneered. “Word of advice, don't let him sweet-talk you. He's very good at that.”

“Er...” Anders flushed as he glanced at Solona again, then he returned his gaze to the elf. “I guess I should thank you...”

“Damned right you should. You get caught, Anders, I'm not helping you again. That's all I'm saying,” she said waving a dismissive hand before stalking off.

Anders turned around to look at Solona, his cheeks still flushed. “I... suppose that requires some explanation.”

Solona crossed her arms and watched him fidget. “No! Not at all! Don't be silly.” She scoffed sarcastically, glancing at the paper he still clutched in his hands.

“I am fluent in sarcasm. You can't fool me!” he said with a short chuckle. “Namaya is... a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I asked her to look into some things. That's why I was in Amaranthine. The templars thought I'd come to take a ship, but it was to meet her.”

“To find a cache?” she asked with interest.

He nodded. “During the Blight, the templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. My phylactery is among them, Namaya learned...” he glanced down at the paper, his haunted look returning. “So long as the templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it.”

Solona's heart began to race and she wondered. “Do you think they have my phylactery?” Even though she was secure as long as she was with Alistair, the thought of her phylactery still existing made her skin crawl.

“They might. I only know _mine_ is there for certain,” he said with a shrug.

“You're right,” she said, finding her fists balling up. “They shouldn't be allowed to control you.”

He sighed. “I know we're busy killing Darkspawn and all, but the sooner we find this vial, the better I'll feel.”

She reached out and patted his shoulder with a nod. “Of course.”

Just then, Nathaniel returned to her side and he looked both elated and disturbed. He cleared his throat at her questioning look. “That was my sister, Delilah. I thought she was dead. I... She said she wants me to come back, once all this is done. Meet her husband. She's due by the spring. She seems _happy_. She said Father deserved to die! I still can't believe it,” he said with a sigh.

“You don't believe her?” Solona asked, wondering if he had chosen to try and ignore the things they'd seen in the Keep basement.

He sighed again. “I thought he had his reasons. It was a _war,_ for Andraste's sake! Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never... how could he have changed so much?”

“Maybe he was never who you thought he was?” she asked softly as he hung his head.

“I suppose not,” he said in his own softer tone. “I wish I'd known some of this sooner. I feel like such a fool. Now, please...” he stepped out of the way of her hand as she reached to comfort him. “Let's get back to our business. I need to think.”

She let him be, glancing around to see where Oghren might have gotten to and she saw that he was talking to a man that matched the description of her merchant contact. He shook the man's hand and returned to her with a belch. “So I talked to your man over there and he gave me the location and the rundown on the Pilgrim's Path problem while you were all dealing with your _feelings_ ,” he muttered.

“Thank you, Oghren,” she said, patting his head and making him grunt and shoo her hand with a growl. “You'll be pleased to know that our next stop is the inn. I need to find out if our missing Warden is in the city.”

Oghren chuckled. “And that means refills.”

She nodded in agreement. “And that means refills...”

They circled the city, finding their way through the bustle to the Crown and Lion. The common area was small and inviting and the upstairs boasted five small rooms for guests to stay in. For such a large city, it was a very homey place, reminding her more of an inn you'd find in a town like Lothering or Honnleath. She approached the innkeeper who stood behind a short bar, a friendly smile on his face. “Something I can do for you, friend?” he asked.

She nodded. “Did a Grey Warden named Kristoff come through here?”

The friendly smile faded and he eyed her warily. “And who are you supposed to be that's asking?”

“I would be his Commander,” she said impatiently.

The tone completely reversed. “Oh! Welcome, my lady! Haven't seen that fellow Kristoff for almost a week now. Not sure where he went. His room's paid up to the end of the month. I guess he expected he'd be here a while.”

“I'd like the key to his room,” she requested, responding to his helpful attitude with her own smile.

“Of course!” he reached behind him to the keys hanging on hooks on the wall and handed her a small iron key. “Here you go. It's the last room at the end of the hall. If he comes back and gets upset, however, it's on your head.”

Solona pursed her lips and walked away, heading for the room he'd indicated. When the key clicked the lock open, Solona stepped inside, wary of any traps that might be set. She'd come to realize that the Wardens were not the most trusting bunch of folk. When nothing exploded in her face, she moved further into the room and they all spread out to look for clues as to where Kristoff might be. Solona happened upon a map of the Arling that was tacked to the wall above the fire place. Several locations were marked and then crossed off. The only marked location that was still open was a place called the Blackmarsh. “That's quite the name for a vacation spot,” Anders said mockingly as he sidled up beside her.

“I guessing that Kristoff is still there,” she mused.

“Well, if the innkeep hasn't seen him for a week, he likely only just arrived there a few days ago. We could wait and see if he comes back before voluntarily going to a place called the Blackmarsh,” Anders said with a grimace.

The name certainly wasn't inviting. Nathaniel snickered. “Nan used to tell us stories about the Blackmarsh. It's supposed to be haunted.”

“Wonderful!” Anders said loudly before spinning on his heels and shuffling through some papers on the nightstand.

Finding nothing else, they left Kristoff's room and turned the key back to the innkeep before heading back out to the street to investigate Anders' cache. On the way, Solona ran into a very welcome and familiar face. The elder woman gasped and pulled her into a hug. “Oh, it is good to see you, Solona. I contemplated visiting you at Vigil's Keep, but things... got busy,” Wynne said, holding her at arms length to appraise her.

“Too busy to pay me a visit?” Solona asked with a playful pout.

Wynne hung her head. “I'm afraid so. The Circle had to be rebuilt, for one... and I believe you too have had your hands full, yes? I'd offer to help, but I'm afraid my presence is required elsewhere.”

“Perhaps when you're done with your business?” Solona asked hopefully. She had missed Wynne since she'd left after the war.

Wynne chuckled softly. “And by then you will no doubt have had this mess sorted out. But we shall see.” Her expression turned dark and she hugged herself. “The College of the Magi is convening in Cumberland, and I must attend. Hopefully all this will blow over before it's begun.” she sighed and gathered herself, something obviously earth shaking on her mind. “But you have enough on your mind as it is. I shan't trouble you with this further.”

“Magi business concerns me, too,” Solona prodded curiously after glancing at Anders who was watching Wynne closely, his own arms crossed but his expression as curious as her own.

“Very well,” Wynne said with another drawn out sigh. “Then perhaps you should know that something stirs within the fraternities. The libertarians wish to pull away entirely form the Chantry. And if they get enough support...”

“Pull away entirely?” Anders said in shock. “That's madness. I hate Chantry oversight as much as the next mage, but they can't just decide to leave... This is a recipe for disaster.”

Solona shrugged. “It's about time the mages freed themselves.”

Wynne scoffed and turned on her scolding face. “The mages will never be free! The Chantry would never allow it. Our only hope for survival is to show them we can be trusted!” Her hands fell on her hips and Solona awaited the finger wag. “Don't you remember what happened to the Circle in Ferelden? Do you want to give the templars another excuse to call for the culling of _all_ mages? This change _cannot_ be forced.”

“Then it will never come,” Solona grunted grudgingly. She had tried so hard and nothing had come of it because of mages just like Wynne and Irving.

Wynne sighed in exasperation. They had had this conversation many times during the Blight. “This discussion will get us nowhere. Now I have a great many preparations to make before I leave for Nevarra, but perhaps there is something you can do for me. One of my... colleagues, Ines, has spent the last few months in the Wending Wood. The Circle has been unable to reach her, given the trouble in the area. If you happen to find yourself in the wood on your travels, perhaps you could tell her about the meeting of the College,” Wynne requested, her lip curling as she called the woman a colleague.

“What's she doing in the Wending Wood?” Solona asked, curious as to why a mage was let loose on her own.

“Oh, who knows.” Wynne flapped her hand dismissively. “Rooting around in the dirt for some obscure plant or other, most likely. She has a keen interest in gardening. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant _botany_.” Wynne sighed. “Hobbies and eccentricities aside, Ines is a well-respected mage and a voice of reason, something we could use on our side. The hour is late and I must go. It was wonderful to see you again. Take care, my friend, and give Alistair my best.”

They hugged again and Wynne hurried off toward the Chantry.

 

The tiny hole-in-the-wall warehouse felt like a trap. Anders whispered softly as they made their way through the crates stacked up everywhere. “Could we be this lucky that the Templars would leave this place unguarded?”

“I doubt we're that lucky,” Solona disagreed. There was a small storage room redundantly towards the rear of the warehouse and they headed back to see if there was any sign of the phylacteries that were supposedly stored there.

Solona groaned as they stepped into the room and around the corner to the right stood the sour faced templar who had tried to have Anders executed on the road. “And here I thought the infamous Anders wouldn't take the bait.” she sneered.

“Ah,” Anders said with a sigh as he realized his friend had likely betrayed him. “Yes, I suppose I should have known it would be you.” Ser Pounce-a-lot jumped down from his shoulder to arch his back and hiss at the group of templars. Solona almost wished she were a cat so she could do the same.

“You made a poor choice with this one, Commander. Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you,” the woman said, barely taking her eyes off of Anders to regard her.

“He has made a fine Grey Warden, so far,” Solona said in defense of her friend. She stepped slightly in front of him to place herself between them.

“ 'So far', yes,” the templar said, twisting Solona's words. “I'll make sure that this murderer is never a bother to anyone again.”

“What? No, you can't arrest me! King Alistair allowed my conscription!” Anders growled, the room heating with his anger.

“The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Warden's ranks,” the woman threatened.

“No. He stays with us,” Solona made the threat clear as Pounce hissed again.

“Hardly surprising, from yet another mage,” she smirked as if she had a right to lay a finger on Solona. “I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now you come with us.”

Solona barked out a laugh as the woman lunged toward them. “Over my dead body.” Without even reaching for her staff, Solona knelt beneath the swipe of the templar's sword and traced the glyph into the ground, raising a crushing prison around her.

An arrow shot over her head, burying itself in another of the templars' throats as he prepared to activate a holy smite. The crunching of the woman's plate as the magic closed in around her was drowned out the a shout from Oghren as he swung his axe in a circle, taking out the others trying to move in the small room and flank them. A winter's grasp spell finished the last of them.

“Hmm,” Anders sighed as Solona's prison fell and the broken body of the woman dropped with it. “I wonder if Namaya knew about this? I guess it really doesn't matter. Thank you. You stood by me, and I appreciate that.”

She reached out and gripped his shoulder. “You're a friend. Friends stick up for each other.”

“I...” he seemed almost at a loss. “guess they do. Anyhow, let's go before someone else rushes in to waggle a finger at us.”

 

After they had returned to the Keep and they had dinner, Solona retired to her room for a bit of reading. In the morning, she was planning on finding out what the fuss was all about where the hunters had found the chasm. She had changed into a simple tunic and leggings and had her feet propped up on her bed as she sat in a chair near the fireplace. The Keep was chilly after the weather they'd been having, the moisture in the air having seeped into the flagstones. There was a short knock on the door and she called out to invite whoever it was in. Anders opened the door quietly and poked his head in. “May I point out that you're all right?” he asked, moving into the room to sit on the edge of her bed opposite her.

She dropped her feet to the floor and shut her book. With a cock of her brow, she said, “I'm 'all right'?”

He chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows. “And remarkably lovely, if I'm allowed to say.” He paused as she snorted, kicking him playfully with her bare foot. “Really, when the templars came for me, you could have decided I wasn't worth the trouble. But I apparently am worth the trouble. Considering I'm usually a _lot_ of trouble, I should be grateful.”

She set her book down on the table and sat forward. “I'm glad to have you around.”

“And I'm glad to be around... When you recruited me, I thought I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But being a Grey Warden is almost tolerable. It's a pleasant stroll through the park... with Darkspawn!” He joked.

“I'm glad I could make it happen for you,” she agreed, with a grin.

“You're a giver. I'm very grateful. I thought it was worth mentioning. Thank you, Amell. For everything,” he paused again, looking like he was searching for someone to talk to. She sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. She knew what it was like to be a new Warden and not really wanting to go to your bed. He turned the subject. “So, what would you do if you didn't have to be a Grey Warden?”

She shrugged. “I'd leave. There's plenty to do elsewhere.”

“That's what I thought... I've never liked the idea of being trapped somewhere, to be honest. It reminds me of the Circle.” He chuckled wryly. “After my seventh escape attempt, you'd think they'd have given me credit for trying.”

“I still can't believe you escaped seven times,” she chuckled.

“I got really good at escaping the tower,” he said with a devious grin that quickly turned coy. “Just never at staying escaped. Until now, I suppose. The only thing I ever missed about the Circle was that cat, to be honest,” he shrugged.

“And now you have a new one,” she smirked, as the cat in question slipped into the partially opened door and hopped into his lap.

“So I do! How are you doing, Ser Pounce-a-lot?” he cooed at the cat as it rubbed along his offered face. “Ha! You will make a fine mouser, yet! Can cats be Grey Wardens?... Hmm...” He picked up Pounce and set him on his shoulder as he stood. “Thanks for listening, Amell.”

“It's what I'm here for,” she said, leaning back into her chair and picking her book back up. Anders was one of the good ones. She hoped he would find his pretty girl someday.

 

Knotwood Hills was a three day trek from the Keep and Solona thanked the Maker that the consistently dreary conditions in Amaranthine were seemingly beginning to dwindle. Her leg was beginning to feel a bit better now that it was getting used to all of the activity, though it was still stiff to walk on. “So what exactly happened to that leg after I healed you in the Market?” Anders asked conversationally as she limped along, leaning on her staff. “I know I didn't botch that...”

She chuckled. “No. On the roof, while Alistair and I were pinned down trying to load a ballista, I took an arrow in my thigh.”

“I've seen your reserves, I'm certain you had enough to heal it. Why didn't you?” he wondered.

“Creation, isn't really my thing,” she sighed, attempting to spark a healing spell and showing him her hand as it fizzled out before it even got started. Pounce sniffed at the air as unused mana floated on the breeze.

“Oh, I see. Well, you're in luck, Amell. I think I can fix that limp,” he smirked, wiggling his fingers. He stopped her with a hand on her upper arm and turned her so she was facing him. He knelt and beckoned her with a chuckle. “Well, give it here.”

She braced herself on her other leg, using her staff to balance and pointed her boot toward him. He took her leg in his hands, gently massaging over her thigh as his magic searched for the scarring in her muscles. Nathaniel passed by them as Pounce hopped off of Anders' shoulders to sit with his chest puffed regally and his head cocked as if he were learning. _Such a strange cat._ There was a light snicker from her new recruit as his dark hair was tossed around in the wind while he passed. “Get a room,” he teased softly.

She snorted and flicked a weakened spirit bolt at him, shoving him playfully since she couldn't reach him. Since finding his sister, Nathaniel had been much less grouchy and more open to even talking to her. She hoped the comraderie would last. He was an excellent shot and he seemed to be the noble person that his father could never have dreamed of being. “Why would I do that when I can fondle our lovely Commander right here in the middle of the road?” Anders said sarcastically.

Nathaniel chuckled softly. “I'm fairly certain that fondling the King's Mistress is considered treason.”

“Only if she objects,” Anders purred teasingly. She felt his magic reaching inside her skin. There was a jolt of searing pain that only lasted milliseconds as the spirit he had summoned identified the scarred muscles, tore them apart again and then knitted them together properly.

She gasped as the spirit left, and he set to a normal healing spell to relieve the throbbing ache of the harsh spell. “You're a spirit healer?” She had only ever met one other. Wynne. They were a rare breed and extremely powerful.

He set her leg back on the ground and she tested her weight on it. “Some Maleficar I'd make, huh?” he chuckled, shaking out his hands. “How's the leg?”

Putting all of her weight on the limb felt almost normal. There was some residual tenderness that she knew came with any such spell. “Better... Better in fact than it's felt in months.” She grinned at him. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “Consider it repayment in part for my life.”

 

Knotwood Hills was going to need a new name. The entire place was a crater. Solona crested the lip of the cave in and slowly began to pick her way down to some semblance of a path leading inwards to the main chasm. “These ruins look Dwarven,” Oghren pointed out as they came to where the hunters had reported that the elf had fallen in.

“They do,” she agreed. “Could this be an old outpost or city that fell to Darkspawn tunneling?”

Oghren shrugged. “I'm no cartographer, Warden. Ask the Shapers.”

“That was an awfully big word, Oghren. Are you feeling all right?” she teased.

As he grumbled, she picked her way down an actual broken up road that reminded her of the Deep Roads floors. At the bottom of the hill, there was a blocked off path to the left and an opening to the right. A commotion from the opening made Solona stop and see what the fuss was about. A group of Darkspawn had a young dwarf by the ankle and were dragging her further into the darkened cavern ahead. She struggled vehemently, finally getting her foot free from the grasp of the Hurlock and scurrying in a crabwalk backwards to roll over an abandoned one handed axe on the ground and pick it up. She stood to face the Darkspawn without fear as they chased her down.

Solona stepped in, taking her staff from her back and casting a barrier around the small woman. Her horned helmet turned slightly in Solona's direction to see who had cast magic on her. Realizing she had allies, the dwarf let out a shout and went for the Darkspawn. The few who had been leading her off were defeated easily now that she had backup. When the last Hurlock fell, the dwarf slumped and turned to face Solona, breathing heavily. “Well... that was... close. For a moment there, I thought I was really about to join the Legion of the Dead.” Her tone was chipper in spite of her bloody lip and inability to stand up straight. She removed her helmet to breathe easier, and gave Solona a look at the Legion tattoos that covered her face, covering a casteless brand on her cheek. Her hair was short and black, held back on the sides with two stubby ponytails and a third that picked up the slack in the middle of her head in the back. Her cheeks were rounded and Solona quickly dismissed the word cute before she got herself in trouble. This girl was clearly formidable.

“Are you all right?” Solona asked, approaching her with Anders at her side.

“I might have cracked a rib,” the dwarf said with a small smile, her arm resting on her injured side. “But it's hard to tell. Everything hurts.”

Anders gave a smirk before silently offering her some healing magic. “Why were the Darkspawn after you?” Solona asked as Anders' magic shifted through the air around her. It had such a soft touch for as powerful as he was.

“I'm sure they intended to turn me into a broodmother. They do that with females, and Darkspawn are nothing if not predictable,” she shrugged, testing her axe arm and pulling a dagger with her off hand. A dual wielder, then. Like Zevran. “Anyway, I can't chat for long. I should probably get back... as foolish as that sounds... see if there's anything I can do.”

“Is there a battle somewhere?” Solona wondered, following after her as she turned away toward where the Darkspawn had been dragging her.

“The old fortress of Kal'Hirol. There's something going on there,” she offered, turning back to Solona to explain. “I think the Darkspawn are breeding an army. The Legion went to investigate, but Kal'Hirol proved too much for us. It was a massacre. And now I... I'm the only one left.” Her tone spoke of sadness. She had lost everyone she called friend and was still willing to go back in and fight just to go out with honor.

“That's horrible,” Solona said softly, her sympathy turning to an idea.

“The Darkspawn have changed. They're smart now. They destroyed the Legion. I saw them taking some of the women and I wasn't about to stick around for _that_.” She shuddered and Solona really couldn't blame her. She'd seen a broodmother up close. It was not one of her most cherished memories.

“Good decision,” she said with a small chuckle.

“There are many things much worse than death, and birthing Darkspawn day and night is probably the worst,” the young dwarf agreed. “But if the Darkspawn are really breeding an army... I can't stay here. I have to do something...”

“I am a Grey Warden. I'll go to Kal'Hirol,” Solona offered. She needed to see this scheme for herself. There was definitely something strange going on with the Darkspawn.

“Huh,” the dwarf said, slipping her helmet back on. “That's convenient. The ancestors must have had a hand in this. I'll show you where Kal'Hirol is. Safety in numbers, yes?”

“All right,” Solona held out her hand. “Come with me.” Her idea was looking much more promising.

“Excellent,” the dwarf said excitedly. “With your help, destroying this nest is no longer impossible, merely... improbable.” She shrugged with a smirk.

“Oh, an optimist then!” Anders said with a chuckle.

“Let's not waste time. Kal'Hirol awaits, and Darkspawn, when left to their own devices, get up to all kinds of nonsense,” the dwarf said, her tone still chipper.

She led them into the cavern that in spite of the dark, quickly opened up into a well lit and wide open space. The split in the earth allowed the light to shine in from the surface and Solona got a fantastic view of the open air entrance before they climbed down into the city.

“I don't know much about Kal'Hirol,” the dwarf, who said her name was Sigrun, mused as they looked down over the place. “except what the others from the Legion told me. It used to be important. Center of learning for the smith caste. When the fortress was lost, a lot of what the smiths had learned was lost with it. They've never built anything quite like Kal'Hirol since.”

She would never say it in front of Oghren, but from what Solona was already seeing, the city seemed to rival Orzammar. Maybe not in size, but in grandeur. Even destroyed, it was a marvel of dwarven architecture. After picking their way to the bottom of the hill towards the main road, Sigrun gasped and ran ahead. Solona soon saw the other dwarf lying on his front, reaching out as they approached. Sigrun dropped to her knees beside him. “It's Jukka. He's hurt. Bad.”

“S-Sigrun,” the dwarf gasped, glancing up with glassy eyes. Solona cringed. It was Blight sickness.

“Yes. It's me,” she soothed. “Be still and try not to talk.”

Solona refused to be insensitive and point out the obvious. Instead she said, “Is he from the Legion as well?”

“Yes. I did not expect to find anyone this far in. Do you have healing herbs?” she asked, forgetting Anders in her fear.

“No,” the dying dwarf gasped. “I feel my death upon me... and it is a sweet release.”

“No,” Sigrun began digging in her belt pouches. “I have bandages. I can help...”

He grabbed for her hands, his eyes wild. “You must listen! The.. the broodmothers. They are breeding. I saw an... an army. You... you must... you must stop them. But... but beware the Children. They are abominations, even among Darkspawn...” he paused and his breath hitched as he gasped.

“What?... What children? Whose children?” Sigrun asked desperately.

He took several gasping breaths, wet with the sound of the blood filling his lungs. “Forgive me...” he choked before dropping down onto his face and breathing his last.

Sigrun closed her eyes and leaned over him. “Ancestors look kindly on you, brother.” Then she stood and spun to face Solona. “We have to finish what the Legion started. These broodmothers need to be destroyed.”

Solona gave a nod and Sigrun started off, heading in the direction they had seen the main gates into the city. It was far too quiet for Solona's taste and Anders harrumphed as Pounce hopped from his shoulder and trotted at their feet. Even the cat was on edge. A few Darkspawn put up a fight before they reached the courtyard, but not in the numbers Solona had been expecting. They courtyard was eerily quiet in spite of the almost deafening roar of the Darkspawn presence inside her head. Odd looking pod like structures grew along the walls.

“The Legion got this far with no trouble,” Sigrun said softly. “We got careless and complacent... stormed the main entrance up those stairs. It was a disaster. The Darkspawn were waiting. They turned the thaig's old defenses against us.”

“Traps?” Solona asked, two fingers calling Nathaniel to the front of the group. He was almost as good at sniffing out traps as Leliana was.

“And more,” Sigrun said with a nod. “Ancient dwarven ingenuity, used by the very monsters it was intended to kill. We need to learn from the Legion's mistake. Avoid the main door.”

“Is there another way in?” Solona asked, glancing around and not seeing one herself.

“Most of the old dwarven fortresses had hidden side entrances. I bet this one does too. We just need to find it,” Sigrun said with a grin.

“Piece of cake,” Solona mumbed as she moved off from the group. The others each took a direction, hunting for any hidden mechanisms.

“Um, Amell,” she heard Anders chime in as Pounce began to hiss, his fur on his arched back standing on end and his tail one large bottlebrush.

They soon found out what the cat was on about. From the sticky pods burst a kind of Darkspawn that Solona had never seen before. They looked like gigantic pill bugs. Each was the size of a small mabari and they smelled of rotten meat. Solona jerked away from a pod beside her before it burst open and headed for the middle of the room where the others had begun to gather in a defensive circle. “I knew I felt Darkspawn,” she almost gagged as the smell became overwhelming.

“I was kind of hoping it was just me,” Oghren grumbled, readying his axe.

Nathaniel was already sniping as many of the nasty, skittering creatures as he could before they got too close. Anders laid a barrier down around them all and Solona cast through it, throwing chunks of ice from her staff, avoiding roasting the already foul smelling beasts. Sigrun and Oghren dove in head first, swinging axes and daggers and spraying ichor in all directions. Solona watched Sigrun fight with great care, her lips pressed together to avoid getting any of the spray in her mouth. She was a very good fighter, fearless and smart. She would make a fine Warden. There were too few Wardens in Ferelden. It was her job as Commander to solve that issue. She pushed the idea to the back of her head for later after they had survived Kal'Hirol. As the last of the grubby Darkspawn children curled up on itself, Anders smoothed his hauberk and put his staff on his back. “So why are we just now seeing new types of Darkspawn?”

“That is a very good question,” Solona sighed.

“Warden, over here,” Sigrun called before Solona could kneel to inspect one of the corpses. Nathaniel took over the disgusting task, a kerchief pressed over his nose as he knelt.

The dwarf reached into the mouth of a carved face along the left hand side of the courtyard a good distance from the main entrance. With a tug and a grunt of effort, she pulled some sort of lever and a mechanism activated. A rumbling sound sent a quake through the ground as the ancient door slid downwards to reveal a side entrance into the thaig. “Nice work,” Solona said, patting the girl on the shoulder with a smile.

The thaig's old defenses happened to be a dozen golems that a genlock emissary had found the control rod for. Solona watched Nathaniel take it down with an arrow clean through it's eye and as the rod fell from it's grasp, the golems fell inert. The rest of the Darkspawn were not clever enough to pick up the rod and bring them back, and without their defenses, the fight was over pretty quickly. Past the entry hall there was a set of stairs that led down into the thaig's main level. The veil was thin here. Solona drew her staff, clutching it tightly, expecting any number of shades or demons that may have slipped through to mingle with the Darkspawn. Instead, like Soldier's Peak they began to experience the last moments of the dwarves that had perished in the thaig. Battles of spirits played out around them, wispy and surreal, chilling the air. “I... I've never seen anything like this before,” Sigrun gasped, reaching to touch one of the spirits and her hand passing right through the ethereal shape. “They say the memories of the Stone are forever. Is this what they mean?”

They made their way into what was the streets of Kal'Hirol, much like the Commons in Orzammar. They watched a dwarf rallying the citizens to fight for their city from a raised dais before the past went silent. “The veil is almost as bad here as it was in the Circle,” Anders pointed out softly in the sudden quiet.

“Strange in a Dwarven city,” Solona mused with a frown before picking the direction that looked the least broken down and heading for it. They were underground now, and her distaste for the crumbly hills above her was starting to creep over her mood. There was already a chasm. She didn't need another one to form over her head. As they walked, she kept a close eye on Pounce. The cat was wary but showed no signs of outright skittishness. It was said that cats could sense shifting earth, she hoped that was true. If the ceiling was going to cave in, she would prefer to know about it before hand.

Oghren and Sigrun looked right at home, while Anders and Nathaniel seemed to share her discomfort. They were assaulted by Darkspawn and the spirits around almost every turn, making the trip into the depths into a confusing maze of fighting as their battles played out over top of the spirits. They began to run into more of the talking Darkspawn leading the more mindless of the troops. It was disturbing at best and Solona wondered exactly how any of the dense creatures had gained any sort of coherent thoughts.

The hum of lyrium was everywhere but it was especially noisy in a small treasure room off the beaten path. She found a small ring, laced with pure Lyrium and pocketed it for the future while she set Sigrun to taking a tracing of a tablet that listed the names of the casteless heroes who had taken up arms to defend Kal'Hirol. Casteless or not, they deserved to be remembered properly. After they nearly got lost in another dead end off shoot, Anders paused by a bucket full of unrefined Lyrium. “Ooh, Lyrium,” he said in amazement. It was rare that you saw it before it had been made safe for consumption unless you were in the Fade. “The Chantry has a monopoly on all Lyrium the dwarves mine. They kill any one who tries to get around it.”

“Don't the dwarves object?” Solona asked as her fingers danced along the edge of the bucket. The song was tantalizing.

Anders took her hand and removed it carefully before answering her question. “The smugglers do, I'll bet... I used to be a good little Andrastian. I said my prayers, repented my sins... all of it.”

She pulled her hand from his and clutched it to her chest, taking a small step back from the bucket. “Sounds familiar.”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “It could have been worse. I could have been made tranquil, haggling over the price of a wand. Or I could be with the Qunari... I hear they leash their mages. Or I could be dead... Dead's bad.”

“Instead, you're a Grey Warden!” she said jokingly with a pat to his shoulder.

“Right, Death to the Darkspawn. Rah,” he sighed. “A related question...” he began to lead her after the others who had scouted ahead as they lingered. “What do Grey Wardens do when there aren't Darkspawn running amok? I mean are there parties? Do we travel the world? Take over small kingdoms?”

“That sounds like a good start,” she chuckled.

“My lady! I like the way you think!” he chuckled as well. “Me? I intend to take up knitting. I'll send a scarf to the templar commander every Satinalia... Provided I don't end up in some ogre's belly, chewed up into tiny mage pieces. But I'm an optimist.”

They followed along, Anders' voice the only thing that blocked out the whispering of the Darkspawn in her head as he rambled on, likely attempting to block out his own inner ears. The taint on the walls was starting to get thicker as they went deeper. Solona moved to walk ahead of him, trying to avoid touching the seeping black mess. Soon they began to notice along the walls, the pods that had been outside. Oghren stepped up to one and hefted his axe. With a swing downwards, he sliced open the pod and out fell one of the creepy pill bug Darkspawn. “Just when I thought Darkspawn couldn't get worse,” she sighed. She had the others back out of the infested cavern and took a casting stance. With her staff in hand, she delved into her reserves and called up a firestorm. The heat of her spell caused the pods to all over heat and burst, spilling the Children free. The ones that didn't burn, Nathaniel shot arrows into, making them squeal a high pitched note that nearly had Solona clapping her hands over her ears in the enclosed space.

They crept ahead, running into Darkspawn that seemed to be fighting each other as much as they were fighting her and the others. The Children crawled with their unnatural amount of legs onto the dead hurlocks and genlocks and feasted on the tainted flesh until they evolved into horrible, cringe worthy beasts with six large segmented legs that added to their bug like appearance. Before she could react, one of them lunged at her with unnatural speed and landed on top of her, pinning her down with it's body as the pincers on it's face clicked at her throat as she desperately held it off. She couldn't even move her hands to cast and it's front leg began to claw at her arms.

“Solona!” Nathaniel shouted, an arrow plunking into the thing's head. It shook it off like he needn't have wasted the ammunition. Next thing she knew, Sigrun threw herself into the creature, rolling it off Solona and jabbing her dagger up into the soft underbelly of the Childer.

Nathaniel gave Solona a hand up as Sigrun made a disgusted noise at the black ichor that covered her blade as she stood. He pated her shoulder and Anders came to inspect the scratches on her arms. “I'm fine. Save your mana,” she said as he reached to heal her.

“Jukka was right,” Sigrun mused. “These things are abominations. We need to find these broodmothers quickly.”

“Well, if the walls are any indication, we should be close,” Solona agreed.

They pushed forward and down through a slippery drop that must have once been stairs until the taint grew over it. Now it was a disgusting slide that made Solona want to burn her clothes when they were finished here. Anders chuckled at her. “If the king could see you now.”

“He'd take me right in this pit,” she laughed.

Oghren laughed deviously as he passed and Nathaniel's lip curled back. “You are still a very strange woman.”

“You like me this way, Howe,” she joked as the floor beneath them became suspiciously clean and water ran along the edges of the path where she was used to seeing lava. Solona refused to look up at whatever was dripping from the ceiling in thick goopy drops that splatted noisily around them.

The path began to climb and the higher they got, the less messy the place was. The tunnel seemed to go on forever and Anders grunted. “The suspense is killing me.”

“Does anyone else not want to know what is at the end of this tunnel?” Nathaniel asked, gripping his bow more tightly.

There were sounds of life ahead and Solona moved to the side of the path to get a look at what was going on in the wide open area ahead. She watched as a golem the size of a mountain and glowing red hot, lifted it's fist and punched a hurlock into the ground before picking it up and holding it's dazed form before it so another hurlock could speak to it. The room was surrounded by rushing waterfalls coming from the walls and Solona began to plan her strategy as she listened. “The Architect sends many, but does not come himself! He is a coward! I will kill you. And he will know that he has failed to destroy the Lost! He will know that the Mother will tear him apart!” With those words, the golem reached out with it's other hand, grabbing the top half of the defeated Darkspawn and twisted it's body before ripping it in two. Solona swallowed. This was going to be a hard fought battle. Her attention was drawn back to the one calling itself the Lost as it growled. “Who comes now? I can feel you!” She stepped out of her hiding place and presented herself. “But you are no Darkspawn! What trickery is he planning?” A Darkspawn that didn't know what a Grey Warden was? Interesting. “You will die! As all who serve the Architect will die! The Mother demands it!”

The Lost pulled an impressive looking staff from it's back as the golem discarded the Darkspawn halves and rushed at them, it's feet rumbling the earth. Solona drew on everything she had. “ You all take out the emissary. I'll handle the golem.”

“Don't get squished Amell. I'm not informing the King about that one,” Anders warned as he moved off to help the others.

Solona summoned her spirit arms, grabbing hold of the golem. With a grunt, she used all of her strength to swing her arms around toward the edges of the space, aiming for the rushing water. The golem slammed into the wall and a great hissing sound echoed through the room as the water cooled the elemental fire within it. She removed one arm, quickly dipping to the ground to slip a crushing prison around the golem and hold it in place. Letting go with the other arm, she cast a blizzard to further cool the monster and turn it's metal casing brittle. With the dwindling mana she had left, she hit it once in the head and once in the chest with stone fists as large as she cold make them. A satisfying crack sounded before the fissure in it's casing spread and the golem shattered, falling to the ground in pieces.

She glanced over at the others who had the Lost surrounded. Anders threw a fireball at him the sent him reeling into Oghren who knocked his feet out from under him with his axe before lifting it and burying it in his chest. “He must have been protecting the broodmothers,” Sigrun said, her breath coming in pants. “Now we just have to put an end to them... and whatever these Darkspawn were planning.”

The tunnel leading out was again covered in ichor. Halfway down, Solona was shoved backwards as a tentacle burst from the ground in her path and swung wildy around trying to blindly hit them. She remembered the broodmother in the Dead Trenches. It had done the same thing. She skirted the flailing bit of flesh and watched for more. They passed through the tunnel and into another opening. In the middle of the open space was a great trench full of disgusting flabby broodmothers. Solona glanced around, wondering where the light was coming from and her eyes landed on an ancient chandelier in the middle of the room made of Lyrium. It was held up by four thick chains around the edges of the balcony where they stood. Spreading her people out, she pointed out the spiked ball of magical death. She and Anders used their magic to first heat the metal of the links that were as thick as her thigh and then rapidly cool them to embrittle them. When they were ready, they all struck together, Nathaniel watching over the edge as the broodmothers gurgled and roared beneath them. The chains shattered with their blows and the chandelier fell, the impact causing a magical explosion that lit the room so bright that Solona had to look away. The broodmothers wailed in agony as the raw magic ripped them apart, making Solona's job much asier than she had expected after the fight she had endured the last time she came up against one of the nasty creatures.

Anders strolled up beside her with a smirk on his face and sighed. “That makes for a lovely melody, dozen tit?”

She snorted and shoved him away from her. “Get out of here! I hate you for saying that.”

“Oh, you don't hate me. You love me,” he mocked and she shoved him again, laughing as he tried to sling his arm over her shoulder.

“We did it,” Sigrun said in disbelief as she approached Solona. “If the rest of the Legion were alive, I know... I know they would honor you in some way.”

“I'm sorry so many had to die,” Solona said, sobering as Anders moved off to get a better look at the carnage below.

“I used to wish I could get away from the others. Now I'm all alone and I just want them back... Silly, isn't it?” She sighed briefly and then continued, her sad expression replaced by a thoughtful one. “What's curious is that we seemed to be caught between two... factions of Darkspawn. I've never heard of such a thing. The Darkspawn are by nature vicious, and they have always fought amongst each other, but for there to be two organized factions... this is something else.”

“I noticed that too, it worries me,” Solona said with a sigh of her own as she brushed her ichor matted hair from her face.

“Good,” Sigrun said softly. “Its not just me then. Something has changed in the Darkspawn and I don't think I like it.” Solona chuckled. She couldn't have agreed more. “Well, it's something to ponder. Especially when you need to be reminded that impending doom is always right around the corner.”

“What will you do now?” Solona asked, leading up to her idea.

Sigrun shrugged. “Oh, I'll probably disappear into the bowels of the Deep Roads, never to be seen again. One good thing about the Deep Roads is that you never run out of Darkspawn to fight.”

Solona smiled sweetly. “Perhaps you might consider coming with me?”

“Go?.. With you?” Sigrun asked, her head tipping to the side. She pondered a moment before continuing. “But that would go against my vow... and my plan to disappear into the deep, unmourned and forgotten...” Her tone was back to being plucky and Solona grinned.

“I am looking for Grey Wardens. Join us,” she offered.

“Be a Grey Warden?” Sigrun gasped. “Is that allowed? Can you be both part of the Legion and a Grey Warden?”

“You could be the first,” Solona shrugged.

“And I'd be more effective at killing the Darkspawn, won't I? Ha! How does one say no to this?” Sigrun was excited. Solona could tell from her bright smile. “I will follow you. You seem an all right sort, and I'm better off with you at my back than alone. Let's go then, the Darkspawn await!” She chuckled and turned to practically skip toward the exit.

 


	18. The Architect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona is given a unfriendly welcome on the Pilgrim's Path.

When they returned to Amranthine a few days later, she barely had time to bathe and change before Varel apologetically blindsided her in the main hall when she entered. There was a slew of people, some of which she recognized, others new faces as he spoke. “All rise! The Warden Commander and Liege Lord of all Amaranthine enters!” The slew of people rose and bowed, some more enthusiastically than others. Varel leaned in close to her as the conversations and noise of the movement drowned out his whisper. “I've held it off as long as I could, but you hold the right of high justice on your land. Certain matters of court must be decided.”

“Let's begin then,” she said with a sigh, backing up to take a seat in her throne.

“Be seated,” Varel announced and the voices hushed as the assembled people took their seats. “The Warden Commander will first hear the matter of the crown against the sheepherder Alec.”

“On behalf of the crown, I submit that Alec stole two bushels of grain bound for the garrison in Amaranthine,” Captain Garevel said, his hands clasped formally behind his back as the man was paraded before her. “When confronted by soldiers, he confessed. The punishment for theft from the crown is death by hanging.”

Solona's eyes bugged out before she took a look at the man before her. “What say you, Alec?” Varel asked gently.

“My sheep were slaughtered by Darkspawn. My... my family was starving. I ask for mercy, Commander. Mercy,” the man begged.

“The poor bugger,” Varel whispered to her as she gripped the arms of her seat tightly, her stomach churning. “Had he stolen from anyone besides the crown, he'd escape with a flogging.”

Solona loosened her angry grip on the throne. Was she the King's mistress, or was she the King's mistress? She looked to the sorrowful man and softened her features. “Join my army and your life will be spared, your family fed.”

Alec looked up at her in surprise, a wary smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, thank you!” he yelped as the guards moved to relieve him of his shackles.

Solona noticed Nathaniel coming into the main hall as Alec was led out and her next judgement brought in. “The next matter is of civil nature,” Varel said with a sly smile at her ingenuity. “Lady Eliza Packton is the sovereign of Teyrn's Down. She...”

“I prefer to speak for myself,” the woman said as she approached the dais. “The old Arl Rendon Howe made certain promises to me. Some of these he committed to paper. I was given the right to the incomes of the Southern Bridge.” She said quickly.

“And what part did you take in Howe's conspiracies, eh, Liza?” another noble said approaching on her left. “to get such a fruitful prize?” he was cleary upset at her claims as her paperwork was handed over and Solona glanced over the legal documents. “I am Ser Derren and it is my land she seeks. Taken from me because I was one of the few nobles who stood against Teyrn Loghain.” He crossed his arms and Solona bit her lip.

“Commander,” Varel whispered. “Ser Derren is an ally and Amaranthine has precious few who support you wholeheartedly. If there's any hope of persuading more nobles to your cause, you must be fair minded.”

The documents in her hand were indeed legally signed by the old Arl. She glanced over them again, hating what needed to be done. “It's legal, Derren, but I swear I'll make this up to you.” She handed the papers back to Lady Liza who turned with her nose in the air and left.

Derren sighed. “My father built that bridge, but... very well. I place my trust in you,” Derren bowed shortly and the look on his face was not vengeful, simply sad.

“The Commander has spoken, the matter is resolved,” Varel said and Derren also turned and left. “Bring in Ser Temerly the Ox.”

A large man was brought before her, bound in manacles and looking rather unamused by his current state. He had in looks alone earned his nickname and Solona recognized noble armor when she saw it. “Ser Temerly stands accused of a murder most foul,” Garevel said with a sneer, glancing at the Ox. “You and your men came upon Ser Tamra in the dead of night and did cravenly ambush her.”

“You dare too much, Captain Garevel,” the Ox said in a deep but quiet tone. “I am noble born and will not submit to your accusations.”

“You are accused of murder, ser!” Garavel threatened. “My soldiers found you fleeing while Ser Tamra's blood was still hot.”

“There's a great deal of traffic on the roads, not all of it human. And it's so dangerous at night,” the Ox said with a smirk. “We were merely in a hurry to reach a nice, safe place.”

Solona frowned, her eyes narrowing. He was absolutely guilty. She could feel it. He was far too calm and comfortable with his position to think that he could get away with killing another noble. “You mock this court with your denials!” Garevel shouted before Solona got the chance.

“You have nothing, Captain. Release me Commander... It's this common lout's word against mine,” the Ox said with a sigh.

As she pressed her lips together, Varel whispered to her. “You will recall Ser Tamra was the knight who warned us against a conspiracy. Ser Temerly was a confederate of Arl Howe.”

“What would happen if we executed him?” she hissed quietly.

“There'd be some outrage. There's no love for the Ox, but he's a noble. With such scant evidence... but you are within your rights to execute him.”

Solona sighed, wishing she had a better answer. “Is there really no more evidence against him?”

“Only some blood on their clothes... a sadly common sight on travelers these days,” Varel sighed right along with her. “Besides that nothing. The Captain looked into the matter thoroughly.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “ _Could_ he be innocent?”

Varel snorted softly. “If he's innocent, I'm the Empress of Orlais, but it's possible I suppose.”

Solona looked up at the man again as he smugly grinned at her from his high horse. She returned the devious geture and pitched her voice to be heard over the court. “Imprison him during our very... very long investigation.”

“What is the meaning of this!” the Ox growled. “You can't do this!”

“Oh, but the Commander very much _can_ ,” Varel said with his own proud smirk as the guards dragged off the struggling man. “This session of the Arling's court is over! And Maker help me, I hope the next one is easier,” he mumbled as Solona stood from her throne and hopped off the dais.

The room began to clear out and she noticed Nathaniel was standing in a corner glaring up at a painting hanging on the wall. It was of a stern looking woman with dark hair, dressed in noble clothes. She approached him and he regarded her briefly as she paused beside him to look at the portrait more closely. “Funny. Considering all the things that have been taken, it figures this would still be here.”

“Let me guess... your mother?” Solona asked, noticing the striking resemblance.

“Good guess,” he said with a nod. “That's her. My father _hated_ my mother. He only dragged this painting out when my grandmother visited... which was not often. I'd be paraded before her like a soldier on inspection, and she would pick over every flaw while father awaited his turn.”

“Why did he hate your mother?” Solona wondered softly as Nathaniel fumed over the memory.

“I don't really know. Her family was wealthy, I remember that much. They wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole now, of course,” he snickered. “I'd be as welcome there as a bad rash. Anyway, someone should take this down. I think it's staring at me...” he sighed and turned away from the picture leading her out of the hall and into the corridor that led to the dining hall. She followed eagerly, starving after subsisting on rations while they were away. “You know, I'm actually not the first Howe to be a Grey Warden.”

“Carrying on the family tradition, then?” she asked nudging him jokingly.

With another light chuckle he said, “Following in my grandfather's footsteps, more like. His name was Padric Howe. He joined the order before it returned to Ferelden, just after the war. Never contacted his family again, just vanished. Now that I know about the Joining, I think he died.”

“Many good men and women die in the Joining,” Solona said sadly.

“I know that now,” Nathaniel nodded. “Father always said he was a horrible man for abandoning the family to join a pointless cause. I grew up ashamed of my grandfather, but now I see his bravery. That will take some getting used to.”

“The only shame was your father's,” Solona assured him, taking his arm and stopping their casual stroll.

Nathaniel pursed his lips. “My father often forgot that 'nobility' has another meaning.” his expression shifted and he smiled and patted her hand. “I told you that the bow you gave me was my grandfather's, didn't I? Thank you for that. At any rate, we should probably get back to it. I'm starving. Anders sent me to fetch you.”

The others had raided the larder as she had been performing her courtly duties. They had weighed down one of the long wooden tables in the dining hall with all sorts of snacks to go along with the thick stew and turkey legs that had been prepared by the staff. She got herself a plate and filled it to the brim, moving to sit beside Oghren. “They feed you folks good up here on the surface. You were lucky to get untainted nug jerky in the Legion,” Sigrun said with a chuckle as she dug into her significantly less piled up plate.

Anders picked up Pounce from the table and set him on the bench beside him with a pile of turkey which the cat hungrily dug into before standing on his hind legs to tap at Anders' ear with a paw until he handed over more. “Just wait until you take the joining! You'll be as hungry as you've ever been.”

“Don't get me started on the dreams,” Oghren shuddered.

Solona took a moment to wonder how odd that must be for a Dwarf to suddenly be able to dream. Sigrun, on the other hand, looked fascinated. “I'm actually looking forward to that. I love reading stories and I'm curious to see what kind my mind makes up for me while I sleep.”

“You'd better not have any emotional baggage,” Oghren grumbled, biting into his turkey leg and getting some caught in his beard.

“Is the poor widdle dwarf having nightmares?” Anders teased with a smirk.

“Agh... stuff it in your dress, mage,” Oghren grunted, taking a swig from his flask.

 

When it was time to retire for the evening, Solona took Sigrun to the great hall where Varel had prepared the Joining for her. Solona held her breath as Sigrun drank from the chalice and promptly fainted. Varel checked her and sighed in relief. “You chose her well, Commander. She will wake shortly.”

“See that she is comfortable,” Solona insisted before retiring herself.

In her bedroom, there was a pile of messages and one was from Alistair. She smiled and broke the royal seal, dropping into her reading chair to see what he had to say.

_My dear Sol,_

_I know it has only been about a week since we last spoke, but I felt the need to send this little note just to say, I love you. I hope your nightmares have not been too severe in my absence. I wish I could be there by your side, love. I hear things are getting interesting. Did you really recruit a Howe? You're so crazy. I love it. Your seneschal's reports are very... professional. If you're not too busy, maybe you could send me one instead. I won't even object to dirty pictures in the margins. I'd like to see what your opinion is on all of the Darkspawn activity. I hope to hear from you soon. You know I worry._

_All my Love, Alistair_

Solona stood and moved over to her desk to pen him a return letter. He deserved to hear from her and she did miss him terribly. His voice in her head as she had read over the letter made her all the more determined to finish what she was doing in Amaranthine and get back to him. She set his letter down and took a fresh sheet of parchment from her drawer, finding a quill and ink in the opposite side.

_Illustrious King Alibear,_

_Everything is going well so far for the Wardens. I'm using my natural talent for bringing people together to do my recruiting. Oghren is adjusting slowly to being a Warden, but everyone else seems to be happy here. I pulled another dwarf recruit from Knotwood Hills the other day and she just took the Joining succesfully a few minutes ago and is sleeping it off. Nathaniel is surprisingly nothing like his father and I showed him that the Wardens were not responsible for his father's death. Anders is... well... Anders. He fixed my leg. His healing powers are very impressive. I just hope that he doesn't eventually find the Wardens as much of a prison as he found the Circle._

_I'm going to be heading to the Wending Wood in a few days, once Sigrun is travel ready, to look into Darkspawn reports along the Pilgrim's Path. I don't like what I've been seeing in the Deep Roads. There is a new kind of Darkspawn like I've never seen before, and we destroyed the broodmother nest that they were being birthed from, but Maker knows if there are more lurking elsewhere. We are running into more and more of the talking Darkspawn and I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea of them gaining so much rationality. It's to the point that they are forming factions under leaders that they are calling 'the Mother' and 'the Architect'. I'm hoping we'll find more answers in the Woods. We still haven't heard from the Warden from Orlais that ventured into the Blackmarsh. If there is no word by the time we get back, I'll be heading there after to find him, or what's left of him._

_I miss you. I am doing my best to sort out this mess as best I can so I can return to you. This Arlessa business might well be the death of me faster than the Darkspawn horde and I will be glad to turn it over to someone more accustomed to the job. My bed is awfully chilly in this incessantly damp city and I wish that you were here to warm it. I suppose I should get back to it. I'll be thinking of you, love._

_All my heart, Sol_

She folded the letter and took it to the Rookery where she had it sent off with a Raven before going to bed.

 

Within the week, they were on the trail to the Wending Wood. Solona continuously reminded herself that not only was she investigating the Darkspawn activity, but she needed to help Wynne by trying to find Ines the botanist. Oghren had elected to stay behind to 'mind the fort' after Felsi had showed up extremely angry that he had left her to join the Wardens. Solona had known there was something more behind why Oghren had left the army to come here, but she hadn't realized it was because he had become a father and was terrified of 'playing house'. She knew it was pointless to try and talk to him about it, so she let him drink himself silly and allowed him the time to figure himself out while she, Anders, Nathaniel, and Sigrun went to the Wood.

Nearly as soon as they hit the Pilgrim's Path, they ran into a group of scavengers picking apart a destroyed caravan that was burning along the side of the road. Unwilling to give up their prize, they were forced to kill the scavengers, lest they be killed themselves. Sigrun shuddered as they inspected the wrecked wagons. “Something large and powerful did that. Something large, powerful and angry.”

“You're right. This was not the work of simple bandits,” Solona agreed.

“There is residual magic in the air,” Anders said. “It doesn't feel like yours, Amell.”

“An emissary, you think?” She asked him as she reached out with her own mana to get a feel of the air.

“I don't know.” He took his staff from his back and gripped it tightly. “Let's see if we can find anything else to prove me wrong. I'd very much like to be wrong.”

Solona snorted and they continued up the road, following a trail of burnt trees and corpses. The air began to feel much like it had in the Brecilian Forest. The veil thinning more the further they went. Suddenly from inside the charred tree line, a great rumbling shook the ground and Solona spun to get a look. A hulking Sylvan marched it's way through the trees. It was as charred and broken as the rest of the woods around it and Solona shuddered, remembering being trapped inside the roots of one of the creatures in the Brecilian Forest. She did not wish for a repeat of the experience with one that was burning on the inside. She pushed her palms together and heated a fireball quickly, intensifying the heat as much as she could to finish off the creature. The fireball slammed into the middle of it's trunk, snapping the charred and brittle sylvan in half and making it shriek as it burned. “How in the Maker was that thing still standing?” Anders gasped as they watched it fall.

“It must have come to life after the host tree was burned,” Solona guessed. “It's not standing anymore. Let's go. Keep an eye out for more, Anders, and keep your fire spells handy.”

There were more sylvans here than there had been in the Brecilian Forest, but these ones didn't feel natural. It was as if they had been brought to life on purpose. They had just killed two more of the charred creatures when they came upon a short bridge over a stream that cut across the road. Halfway across, a man came running at them with terror in his eyes. “Out of my way! I need to get out of here!” he said in a panic as he tried to shove past Solona and her people.

“What's wrong?” She asked calmly, placing a hand in his chest to keep him from passing. “Can I help?”

“No!” he cried, pushing her hand off him. “No one can help me. I just need to get out of here!”

“What's after you?” she demanded, stopping him again.

He glanced around, his eyes wild. “The elf!” he said, his breath short as he panted from running. “She makes the trees come alive. All we wanted was some easy money from the carvavans, but...” he stopped talking as the forest grew restless, the snapping of thick branches and the groaning of walking trees becoming apparent. “Maker help me, she's here... Gotta get away!” He turned and shoved his way past them and ran.

Solona followed the sounds of the crackling and the flow of mana in the air, her eyes drawn upwards to a cliff high above them to their left. A chrysalis of roots erupted from the ground and when they receeded, an elven woman in Dalish clothing stood with fire in her eyes. She glared down at Solona and the others, her blonde bangs not doing much to hide the anger creasing her forehead. The rest of her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, adding to her stern features and she carried a staff on her back. “Another scavenger here to prey on the misfortunes of others?” she wondered in a voice as rigid as her expression. “No. You are too well armed. Here for me then. You will not drive me from these forests. The shems could not do it. The Darkspawn could not, and you will fare no better.” She sneered.

“Why would I try to drive you away?” Solona asked in her own defense.

“Your kind have been hounding me for months! You killed my friends! And the merchants kidnapped my sister. The caravans are only the beginning. I want Seranni returned to me or... or more will die! Deliver this message!” She cried in anger. “Consider this a warning.” She growled and then held her palms up before her, magic shifting round her. When she clenched her hands into fists, roots lifted up around her and then disappeared back into the ground with her inside.

“Well, that's quite the parlor trick,” Anders chuckled.

“I guess we know who's been creating the Sylvans,” Solona agreed. “We need to find where she went.”

They followed the path up and around, noticing that the caravans had stopped making it quite this far in. There were no burnt woods or toppled wagons. There were still plenty of sylvans however, as well as the occassional Darkspawn. Solona was frustrated by the time she stumbled upon a small camp and got scolded by a woman in her mid fifties. “You're standing in my dirt!”

“I'm sorry,” she said, looking down at her feet and only then realizing the dirt she was standing on was a different color than the dirt surrounding them.

“Don't be sorry, just move,” the woman griped, shooing Solona and taking note of her staff and her entourage before narrowing her eyes. “That dirt was specially prepared for my plants, I only have to find the seeds now. It's just a matter of time I'm sure.”

“Are you Ines, the botanist?” Solona asked taking a step out of the mound of dirt.

“You've heard of me then? Read one of my books have you?” she wondered.

Solona actually remembered the name after the woman mentioned it, and was just irritated enough with the woods to bring out her snark. “Your 'Botanical Compendium' contained pretty pictures...”

Ines crossed her arms and huffed. “Pretty pictures? Wonderful. Did you come here to just tell me that?”

“No. Wynne sent me,” she revealed.

“Wynne? What now? She's not going to try to get me to teach slack-jawed apprentices again, is she?” Ines scoffed. “She used to pester Uldred about his 'duty' to the apprentices when he just wanted to be left alone. No wonder he went crazy and tried to kill everyone.”

Solona shook her head and tried to act a bit more civil. “She said the College of Magi needed a voice of reason.”

“And she told you to find me? Huh! She must be clutching at straws,” Ines said with a chuckle. “Hmm. It's been some time since the College was called together. Why now? No... I can't go. not yet. I'm not leaving until I get the seeds of the Northern Prickleweed. I've been here too long just to give up.”

Solona sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “If I find the seeds for you, will you go to Cumberland?”

“Hmm... I suppose another pair of eyes wouldn't hurt. And if you actually succeed... I'm sure I could scrounge up some kind of reward. You're looking for the seeds of a Northern Prickleweed. The plant has broad, dark green leaves with thory stems and is most commonly found growing on rocky ground. Go on now. If I'm going to be traveling, I'll need to make preperations.”

While they hunted, Sigrun chuckled softly after inhaling a deep breath. When Solona cocked a brow at her, she shrugged. “Trees smell good. Grass smells good too, and flowers, of course. The surface is full of such wonderful smells. In the Deep Roads all you smell is moist rock or dry earth. And Darkspawn... There's a smell I won't miss.”

Solona widened her eyes in a shocked expression and dipped her tone in sarcasm. “You don't like the smell of dust, blood and taint?”

Sigrun wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “What? You do? You're gross! Only thing worse than the smell of Darkspawn is the smell of broodmothers. Now there's a foulness that cannot be described. But trees...” she inhaled again. “Trees smell good.”

“They smell like Freedom,” Anders added with his own chuckle.

After finding Ines her seeds and bringing them to her, they moved on to search the woods on the other side of the road. “I don't smell trees any more,” Nathaniel commented as the scent of death hit Solona's nostrils as well. They reluctantly followed the fumes and came upon a decimated camp. There was one lone survivor that was well on his way to becoming a ghoul. Solona knelt by him, cocking her head. He grunted and turned his face from her. “Don't look... don't look at me!”

Solona patiently reached out and touched the man's shoulder. “What are you doing here.”

He cringed, but answered her question. “Olaf... my name. Came with friends to... to drive out... away the elf. But... the Darkspawn were too quick. We were ripped apart... Biting claws and teeth from the darkness. And... then I woke... Flesh and bone and gristle under me... around me. Everyone dead... dead soft meat melting into the ground. I... I crawled away... came here. Can't stand to... see it...”

“Do you know anything about the elf's sister?” Solona asked calmly, holding the man steady.

“Sister? I... have a sister... Do I? Elf-sister, no... we did not take her. Probably dead. Or eaten,” he shrugged.

“Where did the Darkspawn come from?” she asked him, her hand slipping away when he shrugged.

“Beneath... around... from shadows.”

“Did you kill the elves?” She frowned.

“No! No. Darkspawn came first. They slaughtered us... took our steel. Brought it to the elven camp. Tricked us, tricked the elf. Now... she thinks we are to blame. Hunts all in her rage... while they watch...”

Anders gasped. “So all these people died over a... misunderstanding? Maker... that's horrible. We have to stop her. Tell her she's wrong! If we searched the woods more thoroughly, we might be able to find her again.”

“The dark ones are curious about you too,” the dying man said. “They watch you as well as her. Can you feel them?”

“This disease will kill you, you know?” Solona soothed as she reached out with her senses and felt the Darkspawn whispering nearby.

“Am already dead,” he said shaking his head. “Am already gone. Make... make an end... please.”

“As you wish,” she said softly, pulling the small knife she kept hidden in her belt and burying it swiftly in his heart before the Darkspawn were upon them. Once they had dispatched the band of Darkspawn, Solona knelt by the nearest body of the Emissary. “Search them all. I want to know why they're here.” She found nothing but a small elven trinket and she pocketed it to return to the elf if they found her.

Anders' plan worked well, except, the woman found them first. From the high ground again, she shouted down, stopping Solona in her tracks as they tried to search for her camp. “Why are you still here?” She threw her arms in the air in frustration. “I told you to stay away from me. I warned you! This place is not for you!”

“The humans did not kidnap your sister!” Solona called back, trying to reason with the bitter and frustrated woman.

She clenched her fists in front of her. “I know a human crime when I see it... I have experienced more than enough of them. “You will pay for repeating their lies.”

The elf began to cast and the two trees beside Solona came roaring to life, transforming into Sylvans before her very eyes. She backpedaledand crashed into Nathaniel who steadied her just as they heard the baying of wolves and the pattering of padded feet approaching them at a run. The elf disappeared into the ground in her root cage again and Solona paused long enough to see her resurface near the road and run up a steep hill and disappear. Her camp had to be up that hill.

The first wolf hit them, darting for Sigrun who cleanly chopped half of it's head off with her axe as it tried to pounce on her. Anders laid down a protective barrier before casting a repulsion glyph at their feet. The wolves smacked into the glyph, bouncing almost comically off the invisible barrier and getting back to their feet to shake their heads in confusion and then snarl, circling the invisible wall. Nathaniel shot each one down quickly with his bow while Solona and Anders conjured fireballs to burn the sylvans from the field.

When the threat was neutralized, Solona darted off towards the hill where she'd seen the elf retreat. Nathaniel was on her heels, an arrow loosely knocked in his bow. When they got to the path, she slowed her charge, not wanting the woman to attack them again.to the right if the path in plain sight, a Ferelden sword was jabbed into the dirt, a small bit of red cloth flapping in the breeze to draw the eye. It was obviously planted there with purpose.

The top of the hill opened up into the ruin of a tower where a small circle of Dalish landships had been parked. The camp was eerily silent compared to the last Dalish camp she had been to. Not a single soul remained as the aravels creaked in the wind. More abandoned weapons were strewn in piles around the camp. A soft sob sounded from their left and Solona turned to see a row of shallow marked graves. There were a dozen or more, likely the elf's clan. The woman herself stood facing the graves, her back hunched in defeat. “You... you will never take me alive,” she sobbed, her voice catching.

“I'm not going to kill you,” Solona said softly, taking a deliberate step toward her and signaling Nathaniel to lower his bow. He followed her order, but left his arrow knocked. Anders' magic was swirling just below the surface and Sigrun still clutched her dagger.

“I will not go with you to some... shemlen magistrate. I won't bow to their rules!” she insisted, her tone reshaping into spitting hatred.

“I just wish to talk,” Solona said with another deliberate step.

The girl let out a bitter bark of disbelieving laughter. “Talk.” It was a demand.

“The Darkspawn were playing the humans against the elves,” Solona explained in an even tone.

“What!” she spun to face them, frowning. “The Darkspawn are mindless. It is not possible.”

“Those weapons,” Solona pointed at the piles of discarded weapons. “Were planted by the Darkspawn.”

The elf glanced at the obvious deception. “I had wondered why anyone would discard the weapons, but you say the _Darkspawn_ planted them? That would mean the _Darkspawn_ killed my people and took my sister.” She gasped.

Solona reached slowly into her pocket and pulled out the bauble she had found. “I found this trinket on a Darkspawn.” She held it out to the elf who approached warily and snatched it from her fingers.

“That is Seranni's. She would never willingly part with that. Our mother gave it to her before she died,” she sobbed again before whimpering. “Why would the Darkspawn do this?”

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” Solona promised, recognizing just another hurt and confused person.

“You have no reason to trust me,” she said desperately and Anders snorted his agreement. “But let me come with you.”

“Fine,” Solona said, crossing her arms. “But I'm watching you.”

With another harrumph from Anders, his magic stull churning, the elf removed her suspicious gaze from him and set it on Solona again. “My name is Velanna, if you care for such things. Do you know where the Darkspawn might dwell?”

“Tunnels, most likely,” Solona said, not certain if the ruins below would lead to such a place.

“There is an abandoned mine some ways to the north of here,” Velanna pointed. “The tunnels run far into the earth. We will likely find the Darkspawn there.”

Velanna led them down the path to the less crumbled tower. The door was intact but unlocked. Solona tapped her staff on the ground for light as they passed inside and onto a rickety set of old woden stairs that would lead them down. “There are definitely Darkspawn here,” Sigrun whispered as the song of the taint seeped into the atmosphere.

“Charming,” Anders grunted as he rolled his shoulders in discomfort.

At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, the song intensified, making Solona spin on her heels and look up to a balcony that jutted out above where they had entered. A tall emissary looked down on them, cocking it's misshapen head before holding out a hand. A whispered word slipped over her consciousness before her staff fell from her hand and she dropped to the floor and into blackness. “ _Sleep_.”

 

Her chest was heavy, her eye lids fluttered as she fought the spell. She cold not move her body, her limbs, unresponsive. Each tiny movement was an accomplishment. Her head felt fuzzy and her mouth parched. She slowly inched her eyes open to roll her eyes in their sockets so she could see. It was a wasted effort. The room was pitch black. Breathing was a chore as her lungs tried to work around the paralysis, her heart rate slow. A figure appeared over her. The emissary. It was tall and gangly the skin stretched over it's bones seemed an afterthought. It wore tattered robes that flowed around it's legs as it moved. The pieces that were left over it's sunken chest shone dully in the mostly nonexistent light making them look like a golden ribcage. It's pauldrons stood out comically wide from it's shoulders and whatever hat it had worn before it was a Darkspawn fused with the skin of it's face, standing tall atop it's head. It's eyes were covered with a golden mask, swooping upwards into the hat on it's right side.

There was a small orb of light following him around to cast shadows around, but nothing told her where she was. She could not speak, could not feel what was around her, only the constant humming of the Darkspawn around them. “So you are the Commander of the Grey Wardens?” he said in a low, civil hum. “Do not be frightened. Your injuries have been tended to. I apologize for what I must do. I do not wish to be your enemy. But now is not the time for this. Rest.” Her vision faded again as he reasserted his will on the spell that was keeping her asleep.

 

The next time she awoke, she at least could feel again. She immediately wished she couldn't however. She ached all over and she was weak. She could barely lift her throbbing head. She pried open her eyes and the first thing she saw was iron bars. At least there was light. She glanced around her, Anders sat with his back against the bars, one knee pulled up to support his arm. When he saw she was waking up, he shifted to his knees and moved to her side. She pushed herself up, with effort and at a second glance saw the others packed in around her as well. They had all been stripped of their armor and given worn and frayed clothing. Sigrun's sleeves and pant legs had been rolled up several times where as Anders' pants stopped mid calf and his sleeves didn't cover his wrists. She gripped her stomach as it complained at her movement, growling angrily. How long had they been down here? “Easy Amell,” Anders said softly as he helped her to lean against the wall. The stone was cold behind her. “They took our blood. Seems like they took more from you than the rest of us.”

She leaned her head against the cool surface and shuddered as her body tried to reproduce the blood she had lost. “Well, at least I'm not naked. Last time I woke up in a dungeon, I was in nothing but my smalls.” She opened her eyes and glanced around again. With a chuckle she said, “The company was more attractive than you lot though.”

Anders chuckled and flopped beside her. “We can't all be a Prince in our knickers.”

Nathaniel snorted as Velanna stared them all down with a sneer. “So did anyone think up a plan while I was out?”

“You're the Commander,” Sigrun pointed out with a chuckle of her own.

“Who me?” Solona mumbled. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.” She closed her eyes again before attempting to drag herself to her feet.

There was shuffling and a gasp before she made it up and the bars rattled. Velanna had thrown herself into them, shaking the thick iron. “Seranni!” she shouted as another elf that looked much like a younger version of Velanna stopped outside the cell. She looked in at them, cocking her head. Solona frowned as she shuffled over to the bars and leaned heavily on them. The girl was obviously ill, her face sunken and hollow. Dark rings had formed under her eyes and her dalish tattoos were beginning to blend with the dark splotches of skin on her cheeks. She was well on her way to being a ghoul, but her mind seemed intact as she contemplated them. “Oh, Creators what have they done to you?”

“They haven't done anything,” she said in a defensive yet soothing tone meant to pacify her sister. “I... I'm fine, Velanna. It's not me he wants. I have to get you out before something bad happens. I don't want anyone else to be hurt.” She fished in her leather armor, hunting for something.

“Yes. All right. Let me out and I'll take you home,” Velanna demanded as if scolding a child.

“The Darkspawn have your things,” Seranni whispered, slipping a key through the bars into Solona's shaking hands. “You can still get it all back if you are careful and clever.” Solona saw Pounce out of the corner of her eye, slink through the bars and make his way over to Anders who greeted him with a relieved ear scratch. “They're going to come to check on you. You have to hurry,” Seranni insisted.

Solona held fast to her hand and asked quickly. “Please, tell me what's going on. You must know something.”

“I don't know anything!” Seranni said with a shake of her head in a tone that made Solona believe her. “But take this key. It... it opens a chest in the emissary's room. Maybe you'll find some answers there.” She reached her other hand into the bars and gave her a second key.

“What's in the chest?” Solona wondered.

“I... I don't know,” Seranni said regretfully. Then she snatched her hands away. “They're coming. You have to go! Find a way out of the mines! Please!” Then she darted off.

“I can't just leave you, Seranni! Seranni, wait!” Velanna shouted, but her sister was gone.

Solona put her shakey hands to work, trying to unlock the door to the cell. Nathaniel stepped in, moving her aside and taking the keys from her. She nearly toppled as she stepped away from the door while he worked. Anders caught her and slung her arm over his shoulders, stooping to hold her much shorter frame aloft. “Amell is in no condition to fight. She needs a healing draught and some lyrium.” He said. “I could also use a potion, or else I would heal her myself.”

“Priority one, get to the Emissary's room and hope he's well stocked,” Sigrun said, rolling her shoulders and balling her fists for a fight.

Nathaniel got the cell door open and he and Sigrun followed Velanna who appeared to have all of her reserves still as she cradled a fireball in her palm, ready for an attack. Solona and Anders limped after the group. Nathaniel and Sigrun both looked a bit pale, but no worse for the wear. When the Darkspawn began to pour into the dungeon, Velanna fought with vigor, lashing out at the creatures who had taken and converted her sister. Sigrun scrapped with a few genlocks, dipping gracefully in and out of their reach to land quick but powerful punches wherever she could. She eventually got behind one and wrapped her arm around it's neck to choke it. When that was taking too long, she ripped a dagger from a holster on it's belt and slit it's throat. Then she jumped back into the fray to cut open as many darkspawn as she could, weakening them for the others. Nathaniel was just as impressive in hand to hand as he was with his bow. He moved with grace and speed, using the shadows to his advantage as Solona had often seen Zevran do. Even Pounce leapt into the fray. Anders cringed as the cat was snatched up by a genlock. The fierce, miniature tiger, lashed out with claws, swatting as he hissed and spat. He caught his captor on the nose, drawing blood and making the genlock drop him. With a final growl of disapproval, the cat decided the fight was too much for him and scurried back to Anders' feet as Anders chuckled. “Nice job, Pounce,” Solona smirked.

The cat mewed and twisted around her ankles once to show it's appreciation at the praise. Velanna cast a fireball at the feet of the last two Darkspawn and they fell. They moved through the dungeon to the large room where the Darkspawn had come from. It seemed to be a laboratory of sorts, but the Emissary was nowhere to be found. Nathaniel hunted for the chest that matched the key they had been given and Sigrun found a cache of the potions they needed. After a draught of Lyrium and a healing potion, Solona felt much more like herself as her mana began to replenish along with her blood. The color returned to Anders' cheeks as he downed his own Lyrium potion. She passed the healing potions around to the others in case their own blood loss became an issue.

Nathaniel brought her a thick journal and a slip of parchment. Both were written on in a careful hand. She opened the journal to the last few entries and took the time to read while she recovered.

_The Seeker_ _collected two_ [ _elves_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elf) _, male and female. The rest died defending their camp. Unfortunate, but a small price to pay. The male has since dashed his head on the wall. Odd. Don't all living beings strive for survival?_

_The Seeker confessed that he did more than simply collect the elves. He found the elves and humans_ _at odds, then exacerbated the conflict by making the humans look responsible for the two elves' disappearances. He said he wanted to see how the elf leader would react. Odd again._

_The female elf has developed a... bond of sorts with her guard. Many of the other disciples seem drawn to her as well. The Seeker says her name is_ [ _Seranni_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Seranni) _. Perhaps I should speak to her. Maybe she will understand._

Solona grunted as she wondered what this Emissary was hoping to achieve with their blood. His notes from the parchment were no more helpful.

 _-What happens if the_ _Old Gods_ _perish? Does the song die with them?_

_-The blood is the key. The blood is always the key._

_-The_ _female elf_ _is accommodating, allowing me to take her blood for my work. Perhaps she thinks I'll release her if she cooperates._

_-My disciples report that_ _another elf_ _is rampaging through the woods, killing_ [ _humans_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Human) _. Revenge for what we did to her kind, only she hasn't seen through_ [ _the Seeker_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/The_Seeker) _'s ruse. We'll keep this from Seranni. If she is upset, she may stop cooperating._

_-Perhaps I should have killed it while it slept._

“What 'it' is he talking about?” Anders wondered as he took the parchment from Solona's hands.

“I'm not sure, but I _am_ sure I don't like it. Come on, we should get out of here,” She said with a sigh, feeling much more like herself as her magic coiled back in her chest like a warm blanket. The clothing she wore was thin and the dungeons were cold as they picked their way back through and into the tunnels. The ground was damp beneath her bare feet and she tried not to look down at what she might be walking on. She kept a close eye on Velanna, making certain that she did not begin to show any signs of the Blight sickness. They were fighting Darkspawn and she was the only one in their group who was unprotected. She didn't need to end up like her sister.

They rounded a corner not far into the tunnels and Velanna stopped in her tracks and growled. Pointing she shouted. “That... that _ghoul_ has my things! She has it all!” She balled her fists in rage. “I'm going to get it back! Are you with me?”

Solona nodded as the hunched and rotten figure turned and regarded them dully. It was indeed wearing the clothing Velanna had been when they met her and had her staff clutched in its hands. What in Andraste's name was this Emissary trying to do? She called her magic and knocked the ghoul into the dirt with a stonefist. As it struggled to get back to it's feet, she picked it up with her spirit arms and swung downwards, smashing it's head on a pole before jamming it into the ground. Velanna ran up to it and touched her palm to it's head to send a jolt of electricity directly into it's brain to finish it off for good before stripping her clothing from it's body. With a sneer of disgust, she blatantly stripped out of the clothing she was wearing without care for modesty and pulled her Dalish robes back on. Anders grunted in appreciation and Nathaniel looked away, his face blood red. Solona nudged Anders in his ribs and he shrugged and rolled his eyes before averting them as well while she stifled a chuckle.

Finding their way through the abandoned mining tunnels was easy. They simply needed to follow the Darkspawn. One by one, each of them found the experiment wearing their things. Solona smiled warmly when the staff that had been a gift from Alistair was back in her hands, humming with power. “You smell like a genlock, Amell,” Anders teased.

“Yeah, well you smell like a hurlock's ass, so...” she trailed off her words as she strolled away from him, twirling her staff and smirking.

“See who gets a scarf next Satinalia...” he mumbled. “Nathaniel gets a scarf... Sigrun can have one too... I'll even give one to Velanna, but you my dear Commander will get nothing.”

Solona chuckled over her shoulder as she prepared for the next room full of Darkspawn. “Sigrun doesn't want your scarf, Anders.”

“Speak for yourself, Commander. The surface is freezing,” Sigrun said with a chuckle of her own.

“Nathaniel doesn't want your scarf,” Nathaniel said with a sly grin as he passed by Solona to enter the room first, his bow drawn.

“And there go all of my dreams and aspirations,” Anders said with a sigh as he followed Nathaniel into the room to cast fireballs around the area. Solona joined them as Sigrun ran in with a shout to pounce on a genlock with her axe.

“You are all ridiculous,” Velanna muttered as roots ripped from the ceiling to snake down and hang four of the hurlocks shooting arrows at them from high ground. “We are near the surface. I can feel the woods above us.”

They fought through the remainder of the tunnels and came upon what must have been the living quarters of the miners who used to work there. The hallways opened up into a mezannine that led them upwards and into a great hall. Solona began to jog. Great halls meant that the entrances were nearby. She was stopped by the whisper of the Darkspawn song and immediately after she spotted the Emissary on a balcony above them to their left, flanked by Seranni and a dwarven ghoul dressed in old Warden armor that looked decades old, a barking roar sounded from the opposite side of the room. She looked up to see a dragon perched on an outcropping. As she gaped at the relatively small creature, another swooped in and landed in front of them to add it's own answering roar to the noise.

They were likely a breeding pair, but they were small compared to Flemeth and the Dragon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The one on the ground spouted a jet of fire toward them and they all scattered as the second rose into the air to circle them. Solona checked her reserves. She had enough if she was careful. “Everyone focus on the female. I'll hold the male!”

“Are you crazy, Amell?” Anders shouted, even as he began to cast small shards of ice from his staff towards the female who was circling them overhead, dripping boiling spit down around them.

“Just do it!” she cried as she drew on her power and touched her hand to the ground to draw the glyph and raise the crushing prison around the male. She trapped him in place, squeezing with her fist as she prepared a glyph of paralysis. She pushed the inactive glyph beneath his feet and waited, pouring more mana into the prison.

The others were whittling away at the female and she felt the heat of one of her fiery breaths as she flapped a little too close for comfort. She tucked her wings into her sides and dipped into a barrel roll directly toward Velanna. Nathaniel tackled the elf to the ground and the dragon slammed into the wall instead. Sigrun ran at her, blades flashing. She jumped on the dragon's back and the dragon roared in irritation as her dagger buried itself hilt deep between her shoulderblades. “Whoa!” Sigrun shouted as the dragon took off flapping up toward the ceiling. “I didn't think this through!”

Nathaniel recovered, unwraveling himself from Velanna and taking aim. Then he growled as he couldn't get a clear shot. Sigrun clutched the dragon's neck as it tried to shake her off. With one arm, she pulled the dagger free and stabbed a few more times, drawing a pained shriek from the dragon. Solona felt the male struggling in her prison as his mate cried out for help. She redoubled her efforts and grunted. “You doing all right, Amell?” Anders called over his shoulder.

The female bucked and Sigrun lost her grip. She plummeted with a terrified yelp, flailing her arms and legs. Anders jumped into action, his attention back on the battle instead of Solona. His spirit arm reached out and plucked Sigrum from the air and set her back on her feet. Then he patted her head with the large magical arm before reeling it back in and beginning to throw more ice at the dragon. Nathaniel took aim, his steely eyes narrowing as he found his mark. The arrow whizzed through the air and landed with a meaty thunk in the dragon's eye. She shrieked and seemed to forget she was flying as her front legs came up to paw at her face. She dropped from the air and landed hard on the stone ground. Velanna roared her own anger and ripped roots up from beneath the stonework and wrapped the dragon tightly. Sigrun rushed over with her axe and brought it down to cleave the dragon's head off.

Solona was panting, sweat dripping from her forehead to burn her eyes. She whimpered as the crushing prison became too much as the dragon struggled against her in rage. “Incoming!” she shouted as she released the prison. She quickly slipped some of her low reserves into the glyph to give them a few more minutes of paralyzed dragon before dropping to her knees. She panted in a few quick breaths and fished for a lyrium potion. After downing it, she added a petrification spell into the onslaught as the others unleashed hell on the beast. Anders' stone fist shattered one of the dragon's wings just before her weak spell wore off. As the dragon roared in agony at the loss of it's wing, Anders drew a glyph in the air before him and pushed mana through it. Shards of ice flew through the air and silenced the dragon, piercing it like swiss cheese. It fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

Above them, the Emissary had watched the entire fight without thought for helping either side. When it was over, he turned with his two minions and collapsed the tunnel behind them in a burst of magic. “No!” Velanna shouted. “Why is she with that monster? We must get to her!”

“We'll find another way. I promise,” Solona said softly. None of them were in any shape to be moving boulders.

Anders was tending to the others' wounds as Velanna cursed. “How? Where does this go?”

“They are Darkspawn. They'll head for the Deep Roads,” Solona said, leaning heavily on her staff. She was exhausted and she wanted nothing more than to be out of this damned mine.

“The home of the Children of Stone. Yes...” Velanna mused. “They say Wardens can sense Darkspawn, even deep beneath the ground. I would join the Grey Wardens. Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters in the deep!” She demanded.

Solona looked up in surprise. “The Joining could kill you,” she warned.

“At the very least, it's hard to get the taste out of your mouth for a few hours,” Anders quipped as his hands dropped from the burn on Nathaniel's shoulder.

“I am not afraid of death!” Velanna said shortly. “I will pledge my service to you in exchange for the powers your order can grant. What say you?”

Solona gaped at her for a moment and then glanced to the others and was met with shrugs all around. She was a talented mage and good in a fight, even if she might not be the best with her people skills.

“Very well. Welcome to the Grey Wardens,” Solona said with a shrug.

“Ma serannas,” Velanna said with great appreciation and the hint of a smile. “Shall we go then? I have had enough of this place.”

Solona couldn't have agreed more. So, leaning heavily on her staff, she followed the tiny angry elf from the hall.

 

On their arrival back at the Keep, Velanna was no less friendly to the rest of them, but she was no less hostile either, so Solona was calling it a win. They had all had time to recover on the week long trek back to the fort and Solona was more than ready to burn her clothes yet again and have a relaxing bath. Apparently, that was not to be as they came upon the courtyard full of the beginnings of an angry mob at the Keep's doorstep. Varel and Garevel were on the stairs attempting to keep the peace, but the crowd was getting more riled by the second. Solona pushed past her other companions and jogged up to them. The ring of guards around the gates were hard pressed to keep the crowd back. “Thank the Maker you've arrived,” Garevel said. “Things are getting out of hand.”

“My son is starving! Open the granaries!” One of the peasants shouted through the throng. Were things truly that bad? “Bloody feed your people!”

“Grave times, Commander. The common folk are getting desperate,” Varel sighed out of the corner of his mouth. That was blatantly obvious from the weapons the peasants had brought with them, still tentatively tucked away. “Maybe you can say a few words? Calm them down. Make them see reason?” Varel suggested.

As the others approached at her back, Garevel grunted. “Varel, you don't coddle a revolt, you put it down. Just give me the order.”

Solona stepped past her two advisors and held her arms up for quiet. Then she gently moved the two guards out of her way and pitched her voice. “Good people! Now, more than ever, we must stand together...”

We will not be...” She was interrupted by the same man who had shouted about his son.

Before he could respond in full, he was also interrupted by one of the women off to the side of the crowd. “Let the Commander speak.”

“But we must eat! We...” he cried.

“Quiet!” the older woman scolded and the man backed down.

Solona knew how bad things could get. She inhaled a breath and carefully made her decision. “We will give you grain. You will not starve.” She said in a quiet but confident voice. She had seen the Vigil's stores. They had enough to go around. Without Velanna terrorizing the Pilgrim's path anymore, trade would flow once more.

With her words, the wind was blown from the sails of the mob. They glanced between each other and then back at her as they decided whether to believe her. The woman who had elected to hear her out nodded in approval and quietly walked away. The rest of the crowd slowly dispersed and Garavel gaped. “I don't know how you did that Commander.”

“We have enough to spare. See that Woolsey makes it happen. Every working household in the Arling that is suffering...” she said, looking to Varel. He nodded.

He held out his palm for her to enter the Keep with him. “I'm sure you'd like to clean up after your journey,” he said conversationally.

“I'm told I smell like a genlock,” she said grinning over her shoulder at Anders. “I've also brought us a new recruit.”

“Another?” he said in surprise as his eyes fell on Velanna who was following close behind Sigrun. “You are quite the recruiter, Commander.” She shurgged as they entered into the great hall to pass through to the rest of the keep. Varel stopped her short. “Bann Esmerelle... What is the urgent matter?” he asked as the woman moved toward them with purpose and knights at her back. She had forsaken her court dress for a set of armor and a sword at her hip.

Solona's fingers twitched. “I'm here about the good Arl.” She looked over with venom at Solona. “The good Arl _you_ killed.”

“You're still loyal to Arl Howe?” Varel said, his eyes widening.

“Rendon was good to us. Good to me. And now his death will finally be avenged,” the woman preached.

In a split second, there was the plunking sound of a loosed crossbow and the bolt had buried itself through Varel's upraised arm. He grunted in pain and Solona's eyes widened. The bolt had been aimed directly at her face. The sniper fell from behind the pole where he'd hid as Nathaniel's bow was loosed. Several men and women appeared from around the throne room as Solona moved Varel from the line of fire. They were dressed in armor that she recognized as belonging to the Antivan Crows. Nathaniel dropped a smoke pellet and disappeared. Solona backed up directly into Anders as Esmerelle pulled her sword. The sounds of men dying around her filled her senses as Anders pushed her behind him and cast a wall of ice between them and the attacking Bann. She pulled her own staff and sought her people with her Warden senses. Nathaniel was working his way around the hall with a dagger and the shadows. Sigrun had squared off with a few of the guards that Esmerelle had brought and Velanna had cast an entropic spell over the group that had rushed her. They fell at her feet, writhing. Each of them received a shard of ice through the skull. Solona sprung into action as one of the crows moved to engage her. She whacked him across the face with her staff and then grabbed him in a crushing prison. While she was on the ground, another woman ran at her, daggers flashing. Another quickly exectued hand gesture had the woman frozen where she stood in a winter's grasp spell. With a burst of mana, Solona called a tempest in the great hall, bolts of lightning crackling around the entire room to contain the threat of the crows. She noted Anders finishing off Bann Esmerelle and her spell was picking off the final stragglers. She ran to Varel and dropped to her knees beside him.

Garevel moved in from where he had been pinned outside the doors. “First a riot and now this?... Blast it!” He knelt beside her and examined Varel's wound. “It looks glancing, he'll live.”

“See that he does,” she chuckled gratefully. “He may have saved my life.”

“I'll have the herbalist attend to him immediately,” Gaverel said, helping Varel to his feet. When he looked out over the carnage he gasped. “Andraste's Blood! That's... that's Bann Esmerelle.”

Solona nodded. “The riot was a distraction. This was the main event,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“I have failed you, Commander,” the Captain said sadly. “I won't let it happen again. I'll have trusted men clean this up. We can keep this quiet for a while. There is enough cause for panic already, Commander.”

She reassured him before agreeing that this needed to be handled quietly. Then she set off to what she had originally intended, a scalding bath and fresh clothes.

 

Later, once she felt like a person again, she sought out Varel who was already back in the great hall, a bandage wrapped around his arm and attending to his duties. “You're not here on my account?” he said with a grin as she approached. “It's just a scratch.”

“Thank you, Varel,” she said with as much gratitude as she could suffuse her voice with.

He scoffed and smiled warmly. “It's nothing. It was an honor. I'm flattered by the attention, but even the herbalist admits that it looks worse than it is. I'll be barking orders for you in no time, Commander.”

“I'm glad. You're the only one around here who seems to understand how I do things,” she admitted softly, glancing around to be sure no one else was in ear shot.

He chuckled just as softly before changing the subject. “I've had the Joining prepared for your new recruit.”

“I'll go find her,” Solona said with another short and thankful bow as she backed away.

 


	19. Justice and the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for Kristoff turns gruesome, and the Darkspawn show their teeth.

Velanna, like Sigrun survived the Joining. As soon as she was ready, Solona took her with Anders and Nathaniel and headed for the Blackmarsh. There had still been no word from Kristoff, but she wanted to leave some people behind in case there was more trouble. Oghren and Sigrun seemed good choices. It took a week to trek to the desolate bog. How anyone had ever lived there was beyond comprehension. As they came within viewing distance of the old mansion, that had served as the lord's estate, Nathaniel shuddered with both disgust and excitement. “My father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh when I was young. He said evil magic killed everyone here. This was just before the rebellions... a great mystery at the time.”

“Your father told you stories?” she asked with a cock of her brow.

Nathaniel snorted in amusement. “This was a long time ago. He was a regular father once, you know... They never found out what happened here. Once the monsters appeared, the marsh was abandoned. I used to dream of coming to the Blackmarsh and setting things right. Little boy dreams.”

“You're doing it now, aren't you?” she said with a smile, nudging his shoulder with hers.

“So I am. If someone had told me I'd end up here, I'd have laughed at them. But times change. When I was in Kirkwall, I thought I would return to Ferelden to take command of my father's garrison. Now, here I am, a Grey Warden and fighting both Darkspawn and demons. Interesting.” He chuckled, a rare smile on his face.

She backhanded his chest. “Stick around. This happens all the time.”

“And the fun never ends, I suppose. Good to know,” he grinned. “Anyway, the haunted marsh awaits.”

Not long after they passed through the city's gates, they came upon a disturbing sight. The body of a hurlock laid strewn across the path, ripped to shreds. At a howling in the distance, Solona shuddered. “That answers that, I suppose,” Anders said with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “The Darkspawn are definitely here.”

Before anyone responded, the pattering of galloping footsteps broke the silence and Ser Pounce-a-lot hissed and bolted from Anders' shoulder, growling all of the way. They were all on edge as the footsteps grew louder. The second the creature broke the corner and practically fell into sight, Nathaniel loosed his bow and it skidded to a halt on it's face. “Oh, Sweet Maker,” Solona gasped, casting a rock armor spell around herself on pure instinct.

“What in the Maker's name are those?!” Anders shouted as more of the creatures bounded into sight.

In a panic, Solona unleased a thick wall of fire between them and the creatures and back pedaled to lay down a second wall, this one of ice. Then she unleased a maelstrom of fire, to burn the blighted creatures from the earth. When the sounds of howling dwindled, she dropped her hands to her knees and had a mild panic attack. “What's the matter with you?” Velanna grunted, shattering Solona's ice wall so they could get through. “Haven't you ever seen a werewolf before?”

Solona's eyes shot up to glare at Velanna. The woman looked less harsh in her Warden armor, not draped in animal skins. “I am _intimately_ aware that they exist. I almost was one, Velanna.”

The elf opened her mouth to retort, but quickly closed it again recognizing why Solona might be just a little bit cautious when it came to the creatures. These ones were nothing like the ones from the Brecilian forest. For one, she had no idea how they had been cursed. For another, they were mindless animals corrupted by the Darkspawn. Their fur was matted, and sharp, black, spikes jutted from their hunched backs like overgrown porcupines. Black tainted saliva dripped from their jaws. Solona grudgingly knelt by the nearest corpse to get a better look.

“Whatever you do,” she whispered, before standing to look at her companions one by one. “Do _not_ let one of them sink their teeth into you. You have no idea how lucky I was to escape the curse in time.”

After each fight with the Blighted creatures, Solona diligently looked over everyone, halting their progress through the marsh. Eventually they came upon a small camp that seemed to be unused for at least a few days. Among the belongings, they found a journal that had the name Kristoff in it. “So we know he is here... Somewhere,” Nathaniel said, returning the book to its place.

“The veil here... You feel it, yes?” Velanna demanded curtly.

“More like we don't feel it,” Anders confirmed. “It's practically nonexistant.”

“There are actual tears all over the marsh,” Velanna pointed out.

Solona took a look around and saw the thin greenish disturbances in the air where they were getting impossible peeks into the Fade from this world. “Let's see if we can't find Kristoff and find out what he was doing here and then get the hell away from this place.”

“I can feel them, but where are the Darkspawn?” Velanna asked as they moved away from the camp and headed toward the water's edge. The Blackmarsh was a peninsula that jutted into the Amaranthine Ocean. It had been a popular fishing community in it's day.

It was a good question that Solona believed was going to be answered none too soon. It was getting dark and she squinted in the low light as she noticed a mound shining in the moonlight. The shine was the glint of armor. She made her way to the body and was assaulted with the ripe smell of decay. Anders gagged and held his hand over his face as Solona held her breath and knelt beside the corpse. The distinct warden armor told her they had found Kristoff. She was about to roll him over and try to find a cause of death when the sound of Darkspawn surrounded them. She stood and along with the others formed a circle, backs in, to defend themselves as the Darkspawn closed in. One of the more well armed Darkspawn approached Solona, flanked by two of the pillbug Children. “Yes,” it hissed with a macabre grin. “That is your Grey Warden. The Mother told it to me that if he was lured to this place, and slain, that in time you would come.”

“It was a trap, and we are all fools for falling into it,” Velanna growled from Solona's back.

“And the Mother, she was right. The Mother is always right,” the talker said with pride.

“Who is this 'Mother'?” Solona asked, assuming that the emissary they had met must have been the Architect.

“The Mother is she who sent me, she that wished you to come. To here, this place,” he said haltingly. “I... here before you is the First, and I am bringing to you a message. The Mother, she is not permitting you to further _his_ plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift.” He reached behind him into a pouch. He pulled out a softly glowing orb teeming with dark magic. It began to pulse and Solona shielded her eyes from the impossibly bright green light. She felt a tug in her gut and a moment of vertigo as she fell to her knees. She coughed and attempted to catch her breath before looking up to see what he had done and if the others were okay. The First was climbing to his feet as well, just as Solona realized that they had been sucked into the Fade. “No! We have come to the Fade as well? It cannot be this!”

With a glance behind her at her people, Solona chuckled when she saw they were all still in one piece. “You weren't 'First' in your class, I take it.”

“The Mother. She has deceived me. I am betrayed,” he raged as the other Darkspawn around them chittered or growled in discomfort. “Now I am being trapped in the Fade with you! Ah! I am the fool!”

“Looks like someone was considered expendable,” Solona mocked again.

“I am the First! I am not being 'expendable'! Both the Grey Warden and the Mother will be learning this!” he growled motioning for his minions to attack them. “I will be leaving you to the Children. I will be finding my own path back into the world. Back to the Mother.”

He ran off as the others advanced. With three mages in the Fade, fighting off the children was laughably easy. When they were dead, Anders grunted. “What was that thing? Who is the Mother? Another Darkspawn?”

“I'm not debating that here. We need to find our way out,” Solona said, rubbing her hands over her skin as the Fade settled in around her. She was glad to not be alone like last time, but she was still not eager to be trapped.

With the numerous tears in the veil that riddled the Blackmarsh, there was an abundance of demons and shades for them to fend off as they made their way back toward the town proper. Solona was beginning to lose track of time when they ran into a young woman kneeling by a gravestone. “You,” she said with a frown as she stood from her knees. “You're not a spirit like everyone else. How did you get here?”

Solona could smell the demon on her, but she had learned that it was sometimes useful to allow the demons to try and help you through the Fade as long as you killed them before they tried to possess you. “I could ask you the same question.”

“This is where my grandfather's ashes are buried. I come to visit him often,” the woman said softly. Her innocent act was almost convincing. “He was the last person to stay in Blackmarsh. Once he passed, there was nobody left in the village who remembered.”

“You know this is the Fade, right?” Solona asked coyly, playing along.

“This?” the woman looked around with a frown. “Of course I know that. This isn't...” Suddenly she ducked in fear. “Oh no! They've come back again! Quick, come hide in the crypt.”

She ran and disappeared into a short doorway to Solona's left. Behind them, the sounds of corpses clawing their way from the ground turned their attention. It was likely a distraction to lure them into the crypt so they could be possessed. Solona followed anyway after killing the corpses. At the very least they may find a way into the village from the other side. Dozens of corpses assaulted them inside the crypt, coming from coffins buried in the walls. When they finally found the demon, she was standing with her back to them, 'crying' until they approached. “And so you came,” she said as she turned, the innocent act dropped now that they were on her turf. “Fell into my little trap.”

Velanna grunted angrily. “Not again... You have a knack for stumbling into traps, don't you?”

“To think,” the demon said. “My entire existance, I have sought a mortal mage to possess and now one walks right into my lair,” she chuckled in glee.

“You will never control me, fiend!” Solona said with as much confidence as the demon itself.

“We shall see about that, mage!” she countered, transforming into her true form.

She was a simple demon of hunger, nothing more. Solona chuckled as Anders grabbed hold of her with a petrification spell and her stone fist shattered the lowly shade. “Not a very clever one, was she?” Solona chuckled as a spirit of a woman reappeared.

The demon was gone and the woman smiled. “You have released me, stranger. After being trapped for so long by my own foolish desires... now I can at last go. Thank you.”

She faded from sight and Solona led her people out the other side of the crypt. It seemed brighter here, as if this part of the Fade were trapped in time. They approached the gates to the town and it was guarded by a man in old fashioned chainmail. “Halt! Who enters the Blackmarsh?” he demanded.

“We are Grey Wardens. Trapped here,” she explained.

His eyes widened. “Trapped? Then you're just as we are, locked in this endless nightmare.” At least they were aware of what was happening. It would be easier to enlist their help. “We've been here so long at her mercy. I almost forget what it was like before. There is a spirit that's come to free us. Perhaps you could help him. If only that were possible...” Solona wondered what had happened here that an entire village was trapped.

He allowed them into the village and Solona headed for the commotion. A group of villagers was crowded around the gates to the lord's estate and shouting. A bright white spirit clad in armor was with them. It reminded her of the spirit of Valor who had loaned her the staff during her Harrowing. “The mansion will not protect you, fiend!” he called out over the gates. “Come out and face your crime!”

“We aren't afraid of you any longer!” One of the women in the crowd shouted. “The witch hides! Break down the door!”

“Be cautious, my friends,” the spirit warned. “The Baroness has power within her lair, and she well knows it. We rush in at our peril.” He turned as he spoke and noticed Solona and her people approaching. “And who comes now? More minions of the Baroness? Or yet more helpless souls she had tormented?”

“We are Grey Wardens,” Solona explained carefully. “Brought here against our will.”

“I cannot say what a 'Grey Warden' is,” the spirit said, it's helm cocking in curiosity. “But clearly you are a stranger. Perhaps it is a sign. I am Justice. I have watched this place and seethed at the wrongs visited on these poor folk and now I seek to aid them.”

A woman beside him spoke softly. “Once we lived in the real world, and the Baroness ruled over us. She took our children and used their blood to work dark and evil magic.” The man beside her put his arm around her shoulder in comfort as she began to cry.

“And when we burned down her mansion, she cast one final spell that brought our spirits here. We've been trapped ever since, still under her rule,” he added as she became too overrought to continue.

“This spirit knows the Fade,” Nathaniel suggested softly from near her shoulder. “If we help him, he might help us in return.”

Velanna scoffed. “We have no quarrel with this Baroness. I suggest we move on and leave these people to their business.”

“Tell me, stranger.” The spirit said as Anders quietly studied him with narrowed eyes. “Will you help us in this righteous task? Being a Grey Warden appears to make you an able sort and thus your aid would be most welcome.”

“This Baroness is a blood mage? From the real world?” Solona confirmed. Maker knew what powers she might have in this realm.

“From the world of mortals, as are all these people,” he nodded.

The woman gathered herself and spoke again. “We lived in a village in the Blackmarsh, and the Baroness ruled over us. That... was so long ago it seems like a dream we once had...” Her companion nodded in agreement. “We finally rose up against her evil, and this is what she did to us. I can't even imagine what happened to our families.”

“The village is overgrown and long deserted,” Solona admitted sadly, her hands wringing at having to be the one to tell them.

“Has it been so long?” the woman gasped. “How many years have we been held here?”

“Take heart, good woman,” the spirit said valiantly. “Justice will see you avenged, and freed. Will you help us stranger? If this wrong is to be undone, we will need your aid.”

Solona gave a half nod before saying. “I need to find a way out of the Fade.”

“Out of?...” The spirit cocked it's head again. “Ah, I see. You come from the realm of mortals, as these fine people once did. Was it the baroness who brought you here, as well?”

“I encountered a trap set by another,” Solona disagreed.

“Then the injustice of your own situation underscores why these people must be avenged. These men and women are dead, yet their spirits remain trapped by the vanity of this sorceress.”

“Until the spirit came, we were helpess. Locked into this eternal nightmare,” the woman whimpered. “But now, we can act!”

“I do not know how to cross the veil back into your world,” the spirit admitted with a shrug. “Should you aid us now, however, I promise that I will help you search.”

“That's enough for me,” Solona said with a smile. “I'll help.”

She felt the smile on the spirit's face more than saw it through his helm, but it was there. “Then we have the numbers to challenge the baroness directly.”

“They just said she was an evil, powerful witch! Do we really want to antagonize her?” Anders asked with his hand clasping around Solona's upper arm.

“We could defeat her and make her use her magic to help us,” Solona whispered to him. If the baroness had brought these people here, she could clearly sunder the veil and return them.

He frowned momentarily and then rolled his eyes. “Hmm... Now there's a thought... All right, you've convinced me.

Velanna sighed as well. “I admit there is a small measure of wisdom in that plan.”

“My intention is to storm the gate,” the spirit said. “Are you ready?”

Solona drew her staff and nodded as the others prepared. “As I'll ever be.”

The spirit turned to the mob. “Good people! We take the battle directly to the Witch! For too long have her crimes gone unpunished! Now is the time to reclaim your freedom!” He ran at the gate and kicked it in, barging forward into the courtyard beyond. Solona followed cautiously.

They stopped before the balcony that overlooked the small gardens as a fine dressed woman with harsh features and dark hair strolled confidently to the edge of the rail, flanked by two ash wraiths. “My my,” she said calmly in an accent that Solona could not place. “All that shouting outside and now you've finally decided to barge in. Without even a proper invitation?”

“Foul sorceress,” the spirit spat. “You will release these poor folk and submit yourself to Justice!”

“Justice? Is that what you're calling it?” The Baroness scoffed. “What of their punishment? Burning my home to the ground and me within it?”

“Because you were stealing our children!” one of the men shouted. “Using their blood to feed your vanity!”

“As was my due!” the Baroness said haughtily. “You lived on my land, I your rightful ruler. Your blood was mine just as your lives are now!”

“Their lives are not yours any longer,” Solona growled, outraged at the abuse of power.

“What's this?” the Baroness purred, her eyes falling on Solona in curiosity. “The pathetic fools have managed to recruit yet more sympathizers?”

“We are no longer alone, Baroness! Your reign ends here!” Justice threatened.

She chuckled. “As it happens, I am no longer alone either.”

The First walked out of the mansion to join the Baroness with a disgusting tainted smile on his lipless mouth. “My path back across the Veil lies in victory over you and your new allies. Then the Mother will pay for her treachery.” As he spoke, he moved from the balcony to stand before them.

Solona snorted. She was not afraid in the least of the First. He was just another Darkspawn. “You should choose your pets more carefully, Baroness.”

“Instead I should have chosen you, mortal?” she scoffed.

“We must be ending this!” the First grunted. “Now! The Grey Warden, it is more dangerous than you know.”

The Baroness sighed. “Oh, as you wish, creature. Slay them and you shall have the reward you requested.”

“Enough! The battle is joined!” Justice cried, a mace appearing in his hand. He swung it at the First, a strangely muted thunk telling Solona that the blow landed she backed up to allow herself some room to cast as the Baroness summoned Justice away from the fight and the ash wraiths and a few of her guards swarmed the courtyard. Solona focused on the First as it got to it's feet and began to swing it's giant greatsword around in wide arcs. He was slow and sloppy, reeling rom the whack that Justice had given him. She threw a fireball that made him panic as he tried to pat out the flames. Then she moved to swing her staff around and hit him again where Justice had. He stumbled and fell. Solona could feel the wraiths dying around her and suddenly, the Baroness shouted.

“No! You fool! Why haven't you defeated them?” she growled.

The First stood as he extinguished the last of the flames on his clothes. “They are too much! It must be sending me back through the Veil. Now! Before it is too late!”

“Oh, I will sunder the Veil all right! I'll send them all back! But you... your life is going to provide the power!” she roared in anger.

“No! No!” The First cried as he tried to run, but the Baroness caught him with her magic.

Solona braced herself as the magic took her again, flipping her stomach as her consciousness returned to her body.

 

She was lying on the damp earth, small droplets of rain smacking her face. Like waking from a nap, she yawned and opened her eyes as she sat up. The first thing she noticed as she looked around were the dead bodies of all of the Darkspawn. They were back at the water's edge. A bright white flash of light drew her attention and she glanced over at the body of Kristoff. She frowned, standing to go and inspect the source of light as the others got up to join her. Suddenly, Kristoff's body shifted. Solona watched in horror as the rotting corpse dragged it's arms beneath it and slowly got to it's feet. It's hollow, discolored eyes looked around as the rain fell down around them. “What... where am I?” it croaked. “What is happening?” After a pause as it glanced around and Solona tried to figure out what in the Maker was happening, I spoke again, it's tone shocked and horrified. “No! This is the world of mortals, beyond the Veil? And this...” it reached up, clawing at the sunken flesh of it's cheeks and rubbing desperately over the fuzz of hair on the top if it's head. “This is a mortal body of flesh! I am trapped within!”

It finally turned in their direction and she gasped, her stomach knotting as she saw the glow recede from it's eyes as it set them on her. “The Spirit of Justice! How did you get here?”

It struck downwards with it's arm. “The Witch sundered the Veil in her haste! All of us were drawn through!” he shouted. “She has returned to the realm as well. Can you not feel it? The Baroness is nearby!”

“She is nearby? Where? I don't _see_ anything,” Solona said dumbly as her mind tried to catch up with the fact that a spirit of Justice was possessing the body of a dead Warden.

“She cannot be far,” the spirit said, lowering it's voice and softening it's tone as if just now getting control of Kristoff's vocal chords. “She will be... difficult to deal with, here in this realm. The Baroness, she is not a mortal as you are or as were the villagers she kept trapped. There was such a mortal, once, but now? That is a demon of Pride. She assumed that role long ago to feed from the mortals she trapped. But here in your world... here, she will be quite something else.”

“Wouldn't she need to possess a body? Like you?” Solona asked.

“I do not know why I am in this body. It was not by choice, I assure you. The Veil is sundered, and the tears must be closed, lest they continue to spill demons out into this world. I can alter your weapons for a time, allowing them to drive back the Fade's magic... but if we are to deal with the Baroness, we must move swiftly.”

He took a casting stance and his hands began to glow. Solona felt the Fade feathering over her skin as it passed into her staff. She removed the staff from her back and saw it maintaining a soft glow. The power leeched over her and she shuddered. It tingled along her arms and moved to her chest to dance around with her mana. She giggled softly at the euphoric feeling and she heard Anders and Velanna voice their own gasps as Nathaniel grunted under the strange new feeling.

The moved through the Marsh, repairing the Veil tears that were leaking demons as the rain intensified. Solona's hair was pinned to her face and it was getting difficult to control her staff as it spun, spraying droplets of water everywhere and slipping under her fingers. Her boots squished with every step and she silently wished that she could go home to Alistair and a scalding bath with him. “I thought Dalish liked the outdoors,” Nathaniel teased as Velanna complained about the rain.

“We do, but we also hate shoes. Why must my feet be confined to these... squishy horrors?” Solona chuckled as she wondered the same thing. She was not pleased with her own boots at the moment.

“At least my robes aren't wrapped around my legs and tripping me,” Anders chuckled merrily. “There was this one time I escaped the tower by jumping straight into Lake Calenhad in the middle of the spring thaw...”

His story was interrupted as they approached the gates into the village and Justice silenced them. “The Demon is within.”

Solona wiped the grin from her face and followed the walking corpse into the village, looking out for any more blighted werewolves. They found her standing before the gates to the mansion, hands folded before her as she looked up into the sky. Without a glance, she said, “So this is the world of mortals? How very dull it seems. So immutable and unchanging. Yet... I am here! I have crossed the Veil! The spirits will watch in envy as the mortals of this realm bow down before me!” She threw her hands out in glee as a maniac chuckle hummed from her throat.

“That will not happen, demon!” Justice raged as he took a threatening step towards her.

“Ah. It seems I was not the only one to be drawn here. How very tiresome,” she sighed as she turned to look upon them.

“Explain that 'bow down before me' bit again,” Solona said with as much malice as Justice as she crossed her arms in irritation.

“Shall I use smaller words?” the demon taunted. “I had no idea I could enter the mortal world this way. Had I known... ah, but I am here now, yes? Soon I will be queen as this world deserves. And you... You will be the first of my subjects.”

Solona sighed as the Baroness began to choke and sputter, shedding her impossible human form to be replaced by the large purple skinned misshapen shell that was a demon of Pride. “You know, I know the King and I really don't think you're his type. Sorry for the confusion.”

The demon cackled in a deep booming voice and slammed her fists onto the ground. It shook, knocking Solona back a few steps even as she cast. Justice ran at the demon, slashing at it with his sword. It attempted to bat him away, but he braced himself with his shield and was only moved a few feet as his boots dug into the mud. Anders attempted a glyph of paralysis, but it had little effect on the demon, merely slowing her down. She smashed open the gates to the mansion, and moved to a spot near the back of the courtyard. She began to work a spell and a rift opened in the Veil, more demons pouring out. Solona set Nathaniel and Velanna on the demons while she and Anders closed the rift and Justice distracted the Baroness. When the rift closed, Anders helped the others finish off the demons and she ran to Justice. She summoned her spirit arms, taking hold of the Baroness. With a grunt of effort, she lifted the demon from the ground and threw her against the stone wall that surrounded the courtyard. Justice followed close behind, jumping at the demon and slashing at her face. She batted him aside as she struggled to her feet and Solona slammed her back down with a fist of the Maker. “Hold it down!” Justice demanded as he ran back at her. Solona knelt and held the spell. Sweat beaded on her forehead at the effort as the demon struggled. Soon Anders was at her side, his hand on her shoulder to lend her mana and Velanna stepped in to wrap vines around the demon's arms and legs to lessen the strain on Solona. Justice jumped on top of the grounded demon as lightning struck all around while it tried to use what it had left to kill them. He buried his sword deep in it's head and the lightning petered out even as he took the extra step to lob her head off completely. Solona dropped her arms and slumped with a chuckle. “She looked just like the one from my Harrowing.”

“Oooh, you got Pride? Mine was a desire demon,” Anders chuckled. “Much more fun if you ask me.”

“Let me guess,” she said as Nathaniel helped her to her feet. “It offered you a pretty girl, a decent meal and the right to shoot lightning at fools?”

“That's the one,” he chuckled again patting her shoulder. “You know me so well.”

“And so it is done,” Justice said as he approached them, covered in demon blood that ran down his cuirass in thin rivulets with the rain. It made for quite the macabre sight beneath the sunken hollow cheeks and dead eyes. “For what it is worth, Thank you. I have fulfilled my vow. May the victims of that woman's madness rest in peace, wherever they have gone to now.” He sighed and looked down at the ground, seemingly disappointed and saddened.

“What are you going to do now?” Solona asked. What did a trapped spirit do with it's time?

“It seems I cannot return to the Fade. I am trapped here, in the body of this... Grey Warden?” he said, frowning as if he were listening to something inside as Solona would listen to her own thoughts. “There are memories within this poor man's mind. They are difficult to see, but... he was a Grey Warden? He was... slain by the Darkspawn. The one called the First.”

“You already met that charming fellow,” Solona said with a nod. It must have been confusing for him, knowing nothing of their world. “The Darkspawn are who the Grey Wardens fight.”

“And that was your pursuit when you were tricked into the Fade? Yes, I understand now. It seems I am at a loss. I know nothing of this world, and have only a few memories of this Grey Warden to draw from. I do not wish to die,” he said. “What shall I do, mortal? You seem to be a creature of good character, and you are of this world. Can you advise me?”

It seemed wrong to just leave him to his devices, but bringing a possessed, walking corpse back to Vigil's Keep also seemed a bit on the odd side. “Join me. The body you inhabit belonged to a Grey Warden.”

Anders made a small 'ew' sound but the spirit did not seem to hear it as he glanced at her in shock. “You mean continue this mortal's mission? As a Grey Warden?” He lifted his hand to rub his chin in thought. “It _was_ a Darkspawn who murdered this mortal so ignobly, and the ones that commanded it yet live. To avenge his death... yes, that would be a purpose... Very well. I will join you Grey Warden, if you will allow it.”

Solona shuffled her feet, still unsure of her own decision. “I will. Should I call you Kristoff, then?”

“That is not my name. I have no name, only a virtue to which I aspire. If I am to need a name, then use that. I am Justice. And for now, I am pleased to travel at your side, Grey Warden.” He bowed with a fist over his chest.

She chuckled and waved off the bow. “Solona... or Amell if you prefer, like some people...” she joked with a smirk at Anders.

“Solona,” Justice said as if tasting her name. “That will do.”

 

It was an interesting trip back to Vigil's Keep. Anders sent Pounce ahead of them with a note, warning about the odd smelling companion they were bringing back with them. Justice seemed to be aware of his unfortunate offensive nature and kept a fair distance from them even when he spoke to them. Solona approached him the evening before they would make their final trek into the Keep and offered him a gift. She remembered how it felt in the Fade, like lyrium was part of the air, and the way Justice spoke of it, he missed it acutely. The ring she had gotten in Kal'Hirol hummed in her palm as she held it out to him. “What is that sound?” he gasped as the ring got closer to him. “Such beautiful singing.” He picked it up from her hand delicately and looked upon it. “The stone within this ring... is it lyrium? Am I... allowed to keep this? It is to be mine?” he wondered as he pried his eyes from the ring.

“That's the idea of a gift,” she chuckled and his face twisted into the semblance of a smile.

“When mortals dream of Lyrium in the Fade, it is not like this. The song saddens me, but it is breathtaking... Of all the things I have seen in this world, this is the most precious. I shall keep it at my side as a reminder that even in misfortune, good can be found.” He slipped the ring onto his finger and Solona smiled at having made him happy.

He was trapped in a strange place with a single purpose. When he was finished, what would he do? Where would he go? Nathaniel had brought up an interesting point as they walked a few days ago, wondering whether once Kristoff's body completely rotted away would Justice still inhabit the bones? Would he be able to function? Those were increasingly disturbing questions for another time.

 

In the Keep's courtyard as they entered, a young woman with blonde hair in a pretty dress, approached then at a run and gasped happily as she spotted Justice. “Kristoff! Oh, Thank the Maker!”

Solona glanced awkwardly at Justice as he shook his head and the woman's relieved expression fell as she took a good look at him. “I... fear you are mistaken, mortal.”

“Kristoff? Why are you...? What has happened?” the woman said as her eyes flicked between him and Solona, looking for answers.

Solona stepped forward to shield her from what she had already seen. “Perhaps you should calm down...” she offered in a soft, placating tone.

“Calm down? Calm down?” The woman shrieked, her concern buried with anger.

Justice stepped in and spoke softly. “Your husband is gone...” Solona flinched, her fears at this woman's identity confirmed with his words. “and I inhabit this body, now. His death will be avenged, I assure you.”

“Avenged?” The woman said in an angry gasp as her fists clenched. “You've desecrated his body! How dare you!”

“It was not intentional,” he insisted quickly. “There was...”

“Get away from me!” she growled and shook off Solona's comforting hand to run from the courtyard sobbing.

“This body has memories of this woman,” Justice said, obvioulsy suffering with guilt. “Aura is her name. I did not know she would come.”

“Poor woman,” Solona sighed, hugging herself and thinking about how she would feel if greeted by some spirit inhabiting Alistair's rotting corpse. “It must be a shock to learn like this.”

“I must rectify this somehow. Intentionally or not, I have done this woman a great disservice,” he growled, looking down at his own clenched fist.

Solona reluctantly reached out and patted his forearm. “Where would we even look for her?”

He gently pulled away, his fist loosening. “My memories suggest her home is in Amaranthine. It will prey on me if we do not seek her out. There must be something that can be done to assuage her pain. Something!”

“I'll see what I can do,” Solona said softly before heading for the Keep.

“The Darkspawn call our attention, but should we get the chance to seek her out, I would be grateful,” he sighed.

Solona had been planning to go into the city the following day anyhow. Finding one woman's home shouldn't be hard.

 

She found Justice later that night in his new quarters, pouring over a chest filled with Kristoff's things. He stood when she entered and looked guilty. “This is a chest of belongings once owned by the man whose body I now inhabit. His... essence lingers upon these objects like dust.”

“You can feel it?” she asked with curiosity.

“I can even hear it whispering his name into the ether,” he said with awe as she moved into the room whose window he had thrown open. She moved to sit in the chair by the window and listened. “In the Fade, nothing outlives the spirit that created it. Here, everything does. This world has fingerprints on top of fingerprints, witness to beings long dead.”

“Can you tell anything from these 'fingerprints'?” she wondered.

He shrugged. “How does one describe a sensation? I have no words for it. The man who owned these things was a Grey Warden, like yourself, yes? We intend to avenge him?”

“Yes, that's my hope,” she reiterrated. He seemed hell bent on making certain everyone with a hand in Kristoff's death paid in kind.

“Good. These Darkspawn are a cancer within the heart of this world,” he sighed deeply and hung his head. “But there is nothing that can be done just yet, is there? A world so full of beauty that beauty goes overlooked. I must see it with different eyes. This world is nothing like I thought it would be... The demons lust to cross the Veil, but the rest of us scoff. We pity mortals, we do not envy them.”

“Perhaps you should help us, instead,” she suggested with a shrug.

“The spirits consider mortals beyond their reach, and beyond help. They do not understand,” he sighed again. “We are wrong about this world. There is beauty here, and the mortals, they _are_ worth saving. You helped me in the Fade, and have proven yourself since. It is not right to judge all mortals the same.”

Solona smirked. “Are you saying we're friends, now?” She remembered a similar conversation with Shale and it made her proud to think she had swayed so many different creatures to see humanity differently.

“A friend?” he frowned and cocked his head. “That is an interesting concept. I do not know how to respond to that. I... wish to thank you again for the ring. The song of the lyrium is yet more of this world's value. Would that I could bring that music back to the Fade for the other spirits to hear. Alas.”

She knew the end of a conversation when she heard it and she stood and left his room so he could poke through Kristoff's things in peace.

 

They found Aura on their trip to the city the next day, and Justice promised the woman again that he would avenge her husband. After they returned with a few sacks of supplies, Solona felt like she had nothing to do. It was a few weeks before Varel pulled her to the side one day and said, “Commander, many of the Lords have gathered. The Darkspawn have fielded armies and the nobles want to know how you will protect them. Shall I assemble them, or do you need more time to strategize?”

“Shit, Varel, I've been waiting weeks for you to say that,” Solona said with a grin. She had been pouring over the reports coming in and she and the others had been going out in small bands and driving back whatever Darkspawn they could, but it was no permanent solution. “Assemble the men. We're going to war.” She missed Alistair terribly and she wanted to finish this so she could go home.

The next day, most of the nobles in the Arling were assembled in the great hall and her people had taken up positions around the peritmeter in case there was a ruckus. Eddlebrek stepped forward as everyone spoke at once. “We've waited long enough. Those who are late will just have to be filled in.”

“Lord Eddlebrek,” Varel scolded. “This is the Commander of the Grey's council, not yours.”

Solona waved him off and shifted in her seat. “I am fearful for the villages on the plains,” Eddlebrek said, ignoring Varel and speaking to her. “There's a Darkspawn army... _army_ in the field and with the soldiers returning to the Vigil...”

She held up a placating palm. “The enemy is out of hiding. We must find them and strike.”

“This is no...”

Eddlebrek was cut off by a young elven servant running into the hall and shouting breathlessly. “Commander! Commander!”

“What is it, girl?” Varel sighed.

“A Darkspawn army is within sight of Amaranthine!” she gasped.

“Maker, protect us! They're attacking the city?” Eddlebrek gasped as well.

“Some of the Vigil's soldiers are still there. She won't fall easy,” Garevel said with confidence.

“Our forces cannot move quickly enough, but a small band might make it in time,” Varel suggested as her people moved in from their places around the room.

“But that's... suicide,” Eddlebrek said shaking his head.

“We must try...” Garevel grunted.

Solona stood up from her throne. “Then I will rally the city's defenders.”

“If anyone can turn the Darkspawn tide, it would be you, Commander,” Varel said with a wide smile.

“Fighting a horde of Darkspawn with almost certain death awaiting? Don't even think of leaving me here, Captain,” Sigrun said with an equally wide grin.

“Who do you want to take with you , Commander,” Varel asked.

Solona pointed as she spoke. “I won't deny Sigrun's request. She's with me.”

“I'm already dead. I have nothing to lose,” she chuckled and moved to Solona's side.

“Anders,” she smirked as she pointed and he rolled his eyes in true Anders fashion.

“And here I thought I'd retire to the country with a plump wife and several nubile mistresses,” he grumbled jokingly as he moved to stand with her as well. “I suppose it'll have to wait.”

“Nathaniel, this is a chance to redeem your family,” she said finally and he grinned widely.

“Initially, I thought you were utterly mad when you invited me to join your order. But redemption, a man could die for that and feel good about it,” Nathaniel joined her as well.

“Well, I am utterly mad, but it's a good kind of mad,” she smiled. “The rest of you I need to hold down the fort.”

“I'll make sure the Vigil's ale supply is safe. Leave a few darkspawn skulls for me to kick in, right?” Oghren said with his signature chuckle.

“If ever I had doubts of you, they are erased. Fight nobly, and if you die, die with honor,” Justice said wih a half bow.

“May the wind be ever at your back, Commander,” Velanna said with a rare smile.

“Maker protect you and hold you close, Commander,” Varel said with a bow.

Solona nodded and glanced at the others to be sure they were ready. Then they headed for the city.

 

Within a few hours, the tension was high as they approached Amaranthine. Solona could see and smell the fires burning in the city. In the tiny village outside the gates, the Darkspawn clashed with the city guard. At the first sign of fighting, Solona rushed into the fray, the others on her heels. All sorts of Darkspawn had come to meet the city. There were hurlocks, genlocks, emissaries, and even the Children. Things looked grim, but she fought to the gates, mowing down the Darkspawn as they had in Denerim only a year ago. When the tide began to turn outside the gates, an elderly man jogged up to them and begged her. “Please, Grey Warden! Save my family. My family's in the city.”

The Constable, Aidan if Solona's memory served, approached as well, his armor stained with blood. “Please, calm yourselves while I speak to the Warden Commander.” The elderly man moved off and sat heavily on a barrel with presumably his wife. Aidan moved to bow, his arms crossed over his chest. “Warden Commander, I am glad you arrived when you did, but I fear there is little that can be done now.”

“What happened?” she asked, gazing around at the destruction all around. It was horiffic.

“A couple of nights ago, a swarm of... of gruesome creatures emerged from beneath the city. They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched. Then at dawn, the other Darkspawn attacked... Warden Commander, it's too late, Amaranthine is lost,” he said sadly.

“Snap out of it, man! People still live!” she insisted, hearing the screaming from inside the city.

“The buildings might remain, but there will be few survivors so long after those creatures appeared. Their corruption is so virulent... at least a quarter of the city succumbed within the first day,” he insisted.

“Constable!” One of the guards shouted. “There is a Darkspawn approaching, alone.”

“Archers! Take him down!” Aidan shouted and a few of the guards pulled their bows.

“Peace! Do not be killing! Only talk! Architect has a message for Grey Wardens!” the Darkspawn begged, it's empty hands before it in placation.

Solona held her hand up to stop the archers, ready to hear what he had to say. “Stand down, Constable.”

“As you wish, Commander,” he agreed with a curious nod.

Nathaniel kept his bow knocked, and she stepped aside to allow him to aim. She trusted him to take her orders and not flinch until she said so. The Darkspawn approached and said in a fearful tone. “The Mother's Army, it marches to Vigil's Keep. She attacks now! The Architect, he sends me to warn you. You must save the Keep, then finish the Mother in her lair!”

“Vigil's Keep is under atack?!” she asked in panic.

“The Grey Wardens are valuable to the Architect. The Mother, she knows this!” The Darkspawn grunted.

Gaverel spoke up, having followed close behind Solona with a small band of his own and arriving only minutes ago. “If we leave now, we may be able to make it back to the Vigil in time to save it.”

“And what about the Darkspawn here?” Aidan asked with a sneer.

“Soon, they will go to Vigil's Keep as well. The Mother, she wants the Keep destroyed utterly,” the Darkspawn said urgently.

Solona glanced back and forth between everyone there, each of them harboring as much indecision as she was. Gaverel grunted angrily. “The _Darkspawn_ has a point. We cannot leave with this other army hot on our heels. The Constable says the city is lost, I say we destroy it. Burn it and all the Darkspawn within.”

Solona shook her head vigorously. “I'm not giving up on Amaranthine!”

“Warden Commander,” Gaverel said slowly. “We have already lost Amaranthine. We can't lose the Vigil as well.”

“I have faith in the fortress I've built,” she said. “And in the people I left to defend it.”

Nathaniel sighed as his bow lowered. “Commander, we can't save Amaranthine if its already lost. We can still save the Vigil.”

Anders whirled on him for her. “If we destroy this city, we're no better than the Darkspawn. The Commander is right. We have to try.”

“I don't want to see fire ravage these streets, but it may be our only chance,” Nathaniel insisted.

“What if there's a chance we can save someone? Anyone!?” Solona insisted as well. Nathaniel's sister lived in this city. They had to try.

“It would take a miracle,” he sighed, noticing the stubborn set of her shoulders and the look in her eyes. “I will follow your lead, Commander.”

“No, no! If you stay, the Mother will get what she wants!” The Darkspawn pleaded.

“You!” Solona whirled back to the Darkspawn and sized him up. “Fight with us and I will show you mercy.”

“I will go. I will do as the Grey Warden bids,” the Darkspawn agreed with a solemn nod.

“Amaranthine then,” Gaverel let out a deep sigh. “The Darkspawn are never this organized on their own. Something must be leading them. If we eliminate the Darkspawn leadership, we can go about finding survivors.”

“Good luck to you and Maker watch over us all,” Aidan added softly.

They fought their way through the city, liberating as many trapped people as they could and clearing a path to the Chantry through the circular market.When the Darkspawn were dead, Solona met with Aidan's Commander who was stationed outside the Chantry, helping the injured get inside. “Warden Commander,” he said with a bow as the sun dipped below the city's walls. “We've received word of another wave of Darkspawn approaching the city. They will be here within a day,” he informed her as they walked up to the Chantry where it sat on it's own battlement above the market district.

“Then we must prepare,” she said looking to her weary companions.

“Most of the survivors are taking refuge in the Chantry. The militia has set up a base of operations there. You can rest and resupply. In the meantime, my men and I will search for more survivors,” he said, opening the doors for her and her team.

She thanked him gratefully and stepped into the warmth of the Chantry. Wonder of wonders it had been raining again. She hadn't even noticed until the heat of the fires hit her wet clothes. She shuddered and hugged herself. “You all right, Amell?” Anders asked, his usual light and joking tone subdued and exhausted. Pounce jumped from his shoulders to shake out his body and began to lick himself after plopping down in front of the nearest fireplace.

Before she could answer, Nathaniel jogged past her and called to his sister. Her pregnancy was starting to show as he picked her up in a relieved hug. “I'm fine,” Solona said with a smile as she squeezed Anders' forearm. “Get some rest.”

“I smell stew,” Sigrun said, practically floating away on the air.

There were chantry sisters brewing herbs in the Chantry's small library and Solona offered to help until she was taken by the elbow by the revered mother and led to a bed. Did she really look that exhausted. Maker, she felt it. As she laid down on the bed, that was blatantly empty as her bed had been for too many months, she huddled into a ball and prayed that she had made the right decision and that her friends were safe back at the Vigil.

 

She was awakened the next morning by nervous banging on the door. She dragged herself out of bed and over to the door. She hadn't slept well with so many Darkspawn so close by and her lids were heavy. “W-Warden Commander,” the nervous man sputtered. He was wearing simple chain and Solona pegged him as one of the militia, not a trained guard. “Come quickly. The Darkspawn are still breaking through.”

“Are the gates not shut?” she asked with concern. She knew she had given that order specifically when they had cleared the last of the Darkspawn from the streets the night before.

He shook his head with more nerves. “It's not the gates that are the problem. They're coming from the inn.”

“I'm heading to the inn,” she said, spotting the others rising from their cots and waving them to follow. “You stay here.”

“Maker bless you, Warden Commander!” the man called after her as the others fell in line behind her and she briefly explained.

Outside on the battlement, she could see down into the street below, outside the inn. Darkspawn were indeed pouring out from the broken door swinging on it's hinges. The militia were doing their best to keep the invaders from spreading, but there were Children among them who had sprouted their long arthropod legs and were mauling men nearly as fast as they were cut down.

She and her companions joined the fray, beating back the worst of the Darkspawn outside and then pushing through the broken door. Once they were in, Solona lifted a table and some chairs with her magic, wedging them in the doorway to close them in with the threat. A powerful emissary was nearby and she and Anders sought him out, finding him in the room where Kristoff had stayed. The magic flying around the small room had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, but with Anders at her back and Sigrun and Nathaniel holding off the rest of the attackers, they were able to outmaneuver him and take him down.

They followed the flow of Darkspawn to a hatch in the floor of one of the rooms that led down into an old smuggler's cave that ran beneath the city and back outside to the village before the gates. That was how they were getting in. Outside, there was another powerful emissary and an ogre that had been armored with thick heavy metal plating that covered it's whole body. “Focus your electricity on it's armor,” Solona whispered to Anders, then she turned to Nathaniel and Sigrun. “You two distract the emissary until we can take this thing down.”

“I'd rather just kill it,” Sigrun said with a grin before she and Nathaniel jogged off to do as she asked.

“Last one to kill theirs pays for drinks afterwards!” Anders shouted after them. “Ready Amell?” he asked as the ogre beat its plated chest and roared before charging them.

“I guess I have to be,” she chuckled, twirling her staff as quickly as possible to charge the chain lightning spell while her feet danced out of its path.

“Don't embarrass me in front of the mundanes,” he said. “I don't want to have to buy drinks for Nathaniel.”

His lightning bolt cracked with heat as it struck the wet metal of the ogre's helmet. The beast stumbled and had no time to recover as Solona's bolts hit multiple targets in it's chest and back. “I never disappoint,” she smirked, calling more lightning in a tempest as he traced the glyph for the energy barrage and shoved the tiny bolts through it so they sought the ogre like a beacon.

“Lucky King,” Anders returned her smirk and started his own tempest.

The ogre was overwhelmed and it's body twitched, smoke billowing from beneath the armor where it's skin had been burned by the electricity conducted through the thick metal. “That was too easy. Should we lend the others a hand?” she asked as the Ogre came crashing down.

Anders glanced over at Nathaniel and Sigrun who were whittling the emissary down with sneak attacks from every angle. “They look like they're having so much fun,” he chuckled, the fireball already blazing in his palm.

With the four of them, it took no time at all to down the emissary. Solona looked around at the worn and weary soldiers that had defended the gates. Some were cheering, others flopping down to rest. Gaverel jogged up to her with a wide smile. “Commander, the Darkspawn are retreating.”

“How does the Keep fare?” she asked, hoping for news of the others.

“We haven't heard much,” he admitted. “What we have heard is... not good... The Architect's messenger has given us directions to the Mother's lair. We must pursue her.”

“I will see to her,” Solona said, strapping her staff to her back and accepting the crudely drawn map.

“Commander, what should we do with the messenger?” Gaverel asked hesitantly.

“Let him go,” Solona insisted. She had made a promise.

“I shall do as you say,” Gaverel bowed shortly. “Maker watch over you, Commander.”

 

“This is it,” Solona sighed, balling up the map and tossing it aside as they approached the Dragon Bone Wastes. The pull of the Darkspawn was strong here, as well as the smell of Brimstone. She took advantage of a small piece of high ground before they walked into the winding path blind. A narrow canyon served as the path to a wide open cliff's edge. Over the edge stood a tall tower that was built into the side of the cliff. The bottom of the tower connected to the top of a second tower via a long narrow bridge. The architecture was old Tevinter and Solona could feel the magic in this place. There were three towers in total, the final one standing at the bottom of the pit, its lower reaches buried beneath mounds of what looked like, from this distance, tar. Solona knew better.

“Is that... Darkspawn taint?” Anders asked, his lip curling back in disgust.

“It sure smells like it,” Sigrun said, her own look of disgust prominent.

“Look at the size of those ribcages!” Nathaniel pointed down to the land hovering over the canyon where there were the skeletons of the Dragons that had lived here when the tower was still in Tevinter hands.

“Do you think we could cart one of those skulls back to Denerim? They would make a fantastic throne,” Solona mused thoughtfully.

“I think what we should worry about are all of the nasty little Darkspawn crawling all over them,” Anders chuckled.

Solona sighed. “Let's get down there and get this over with. The others are counting on us.” She was hoping that when they killed the Mother, much like in Denerim with the Archdemon, that the rest of the Darkspawn would simply disappear back into the Deep Roads.

They fought their way through the horde that was guarding the entrance and when they reached the large entry door, Solona realized that their noisy fighting had caused a stir. A massive High Dragon, larger than Flemeth had been, landed with an earth rumbling crash in their midst. “Oh, that's a big one!” Sigrun said nervously.

Solona shoved Nathaniel out of the way as the dragon sucked in a breath and with the ear splitting roar, belched out a breath of flames. Solona had barely enough time to erect her barrier before the heat was on her. “Solona!” Nathaniel cried as she dropped to her knees under the force of the Dragon's breath.

“I'm fine!” she croaked around the smoke billowing around her. “Distract it!”

In a few moments, she was able to breathe again as the dragon paused it's assault on her to glance behind it. Sigrun had gotten up underneath it and was slashing at it's legs with her axe. Anders was providing her a barrier. It swiped it's legs at her, trying to swat her aside, but she was too fast. Nathaniel picked up a couple of Darkspawn swords and charged at the Dragon's opposite side to split it's attention. Solona used her staff to fire large chunks of ice into it's hide as she moved closer towards it's vulnerable underbelly. The Archdemon had taken several ballista shots before it fell. High Dragons were no easy task to take down. The dragon got tired of Nathaniel and Sigrun and it lifted itself into the air, flapping it's wings vigorously. Solona stumbled as the force of the air pulled her into the cyclone created by it's powerful wings. The wind whipped around them, throwing her hair in her face and billowing her hauberk's tails to slap angrily around her legs. She turned her back to the wind as best she could and began to cast. Before she finished, the dragon slammed back down over top of her, millimeters from landing on her head. She maintained her focus, finishing the final hand gestures to bring the blizzard into existance around her. It had worked on Flemeth, why not this dragon? The wind died down and the others backed up from where they had been pulled just as she had. The magic seemed to suck the fire from the beast and Solona thanked the Maker. With it's greatest weapon out of comission, it resorted to using it's legs and teeth. It backed up and snapped at Solona, it's teeth catching on the barrier that Anders had painstakingly removed from the others to double up around her. She grunted as it lashed at her. Its breath smelled of rotten meat and brimstone. She took her left hand from the task of the blizzard and quickly cast an energy barrage that shot bolts of electricity directly down it's gullet. The air sparked around her and she felt herself being pulled backwards by a massive hand wrapped around her waist. Anders had pulled her from the line of fire just in time as the dragons head flopped to the ground exactly where she had been standing.

“Sweet Maker, Amell. You're mad!” he gasped as he rested his hands on his knees.

She shrugged and pulled a couple of lyrium potions from her belt pouch to toss one to him and down the other herself. “It's dead, right?”

“Such a shame,” Nathaniel sighed.

They made their way inside and down the circular tower stairs. There were more Darkspawn at every turn that tried to keep them from reaching the Mother's lair. After crossing the first bridge and entering the second tower, there was a suspicious lack of more resistance. At the bottom of the spiraling staircase, the reason stood taller than life. Solona narrowed her eyes as the little dwarf in rotten Warden armor lifted her sword to threaten them. The 'Architect' stood stoic, lifting his hand slowly to stave off the dwarf's attack. “No, Utha. That is not how this must begin... And so we meet again. I owe you an apology, Commander. When last we met, I intended to explain myself. Fate, however, intervened.”

“I escaped, you mean,” Solona barked as the dwarf put her sword away.

“I restrained you only to prevent the misunderstanding that ocurred with the rest of your order,” he continued, softly correcting her.

“ 'Misunderstanding'?” Anders said with a disbelieving scoff. “Is that what you call it?”

“I sent the Withered to ask for the Grey Wardens' help. I should have anticipated that you might view our approach as an attack. I am rarely able to judge how your kind will react. It was most unfortunate,” he sighed with what seemed like genuine regret.

“Unfortunate?” she repeated. “You took those men and bled them dry!”

“The Grey Wardens that were brought to me were already dead,” he insisted. “I took their blood, just as I took yours, because I had little choice. Things have not gone as I planned. I only ask that you hear me out. Should you still wish to slay me afterwards, you may try.” He offered as he glanced at Solona's staff clutched in her fist.

“Fine,” she said, stowing her staff and crossing her arms. “I will hear you out.”

A few grunts from her companions went no further than that. “My kind has ever been driven to seek out the Old Gods,” he began. “This is our nature. When we find one, a Blight is begun. Each time, we attack your surface lands, and you fight back until we are defeated. To break the cycle, my brethren must be freed of their compulsion. For that, I need Grey Warden blood.”

“You're trying to stop the Blights?” Solona gasped, her crossed arms falling in disbelief.

“Hundreds of thousands of my kind are killed before each Blight is ended. It is a plague on our race. We do not begin a Blight because we crave power or destruction. We obey the call of the Old Gods... without choice,” he said desperately.

Solona cocked her head. “How would you free the Darkspawn?”

“In order to become what you are, you drink the blood of my kind. To transform. Similarly, _we_ must transform. I have created a version of your Joining that uses the blood of Grey Wardens. You take the taint into yourself. What we take is your resistance. That is now my brethren are freed. In your blood lies the key to their immunity against the call of the Old Gods.”

“I like my blood where it is. In my veins,” Anders growled.

“Some new Darkspawn seem intelligent... others are insane,” Solona pointed out.

“Once they are freed, the Darkspawn think for themselves. They speak. They act. Some, however, have reacted poorly. They are flawed and they rage against me. The Mother gathers them to stop me... as she seeks to stop you,” The Architect seemed to be genuinely trying to find a better way. “I cannot defeat the Mother alone, and I cannot free the Darkspawn unless she is defeated. Our goals are the same.”

“This reeks of stupid!” Sigrun interrupted. “The last thing we need is more Darkspawn thinking for themselves.”

“Darkspawn or no, he has a good point,” Nathaniel sighed glancing at her. Solona turned to regard him, wondering what his opinion was. “Do we really want to keep killing each other forever?”

“Help me kill the Mother,” The Architect pleaded, interrupting the debate. “And after it is done, I will leave to continue my work.”

“How did _you_ become freed?” Solona asked curiously, hoping there wasn't some other insane mastermind behind all of this.

“I was born as I am, an outsider amongst my kind. Why? I do not know,” he responded softly. “Why do some of your kind become Grey Wardens? Why do some possess magic? I have no answers.”

“Perhaps the other Darkspawn don't want to be free,” she suggested. She was buying herself time to think. She was torn.

“And how would they know, when the choice has been deprived of them. Without choice, there is only one path before them and that leads to the Blight. I believe there is another way,” he reasoned.

Nathaniel was right. He did have a good point. The Blight was a terrible thing. Wanting to stop it couldn't be a bad thing, could it? She took a second to wish she had Alistair with her so she could get his opinion. He would likely oppose the Architect and his crazy plan, but Solona wasn't sure. To buy herself more time, again she stalled with a question. “What is this 'Mother' exactly?”

“My most flawed creation,” the Architect sighed, gazing off into the distance. “Freedom drove her mad, and she has poisoned the minds of the others. She has influence with the ones who have not been freed, and she gathers them as an army. I do not seek to rule my brethren. I only seek to release them from their chains.”

Solona bit her lip and then pushed her decision out before she changed her mind. “Very well. You have an ally.”

Anders gasped and began to speak quickly. “What if he's wrong? What if this doesn't stop the Blight but makes something worse?”

Sigrun agreed with a shriek. “No. No! This is a monster! I can't let you do this.”

Solona turned to her and sighed. “Don't you want to stop the Blights once and for all?”

“I do, but...” she sighed heavily and then placed her trust in Solona. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Thank you, Commander,” The Architect sighed in relief and surprise. “I realize what a leap of faith this is for you. I hope that I prove worthy of your trust. The Mother lies ahead, Warden. I cannot approach her physically... her Children protect her from my power. But when you reach her, I will do whatever I can to help you. You have my promise.”

 

The path to the Mother was filled with Darkspawn and awkward silence as Solona's friends came to terms with her decision. She was none too pleased with herself, but it was done. It felt like she was doing the right thing as a Warden, but what about as a human being? The decision made her stomach tie up in knots.

The Mother's lair was on the other side of a slimy ichor covered glob of pulsing flesh that made Solona want to gag as she forced her way through. On the other side, at the end of a long path covered in more of the taint, and surrounded by water that loked stagnant and smelled of rot sat the strangest looking broodmother that Solona had ever laid eyes on. She was thinner than the rest, her top three sets of breasts almost normal size against a wiry frame. Still, the form melted into the usual glob of massive breasts and tentacles at the bottom Her face was relatively human even among the ichor that dripped from her orifices. She had black hair slicked back from her face and drooping down around her shoulders so thick with taint that it looked like tar. Long segmented legs spurted from her back and her skin was a sickly gray. Solona held back a gag again as the Mother wriggled in her nest.

“Now the pieces fall into place,” she croaked in an unatural voice from a throat that was never meant to talk. “The Grey Warden comes, the instrument of the Father! Oh, and the Father, he is but a shadow. Oh, how my children protect me. How they love me!”

Beside Solona, the Architect appeared, an astral form of himself to speak out. “I have told you many times, Mother. I am not 'the Father'. I am simply the Architect.”

“It does not change what you are!” She shrieked. “You took away that beautiful music! Left us with nothing!”

“It was a mistake to free you,” The Architect said sadly, shaking his head. “It has left you with madness. I am truly sorry.”

Solona could not help the tone in her voice as she choked out her next words. “Even were she not mad, The Mother would still be disgusting.”

“Ah,” the Mother croaked. “But perhaps the Warden would like to hear how it was that the Father began the Blight! You want the source of the Archdemon, the one who brought all of our kind to the surface? Here he is!”

The Architect hung his head and Solona stepped away from his image in horror as she immediately regretted her decision. Sigrun growled in anger. “We should never have trusted _any_ Darkspawn.”

“Ah, there it is, then. Unfortunate,” the Architect sighed. He looked to Solona and blurted an explanation. “I did find the Old God, Urthemiel, but I did not wish another Blight. I attempted my Joining ritual. My hope was that this would free all Darkspawn, unravel the curse from it's source. Alas I was unlucky.”

“Do you even think about the repercussions of your actions!?” Solona shrieked.

“Is it not the way of the Grey Wardens to do what must be done, in the name of combating the Blight?” he asked of her. “The Blight is a menace. Both for your people and for mine. To end it requires sacrifice and risk.”

The Mother drew all of their attention back to her. “And how lonely the Father was. How terrible to be the outcast! The outsider! He claims he wishes the Darkspawn to be free, but what he truly wants is to _correct_ them.”

The Architect sighed again. “However you feel about what I have done, the Mother is mad. She cannot be allowed to...”

“Begone, Shadow!” With the wave of a hand, the Architect was banished. And the Mother turned her attention on Solona and the others. “You cannot harm the Mother any more than you already have... and now the hero is alone. Oh, the Mother knows your ways. You will not let her be, no... not after what she's done. So it must end. It all must come crashing down!” She shook herself wildly, drawing a disgusted groan from Anders. “Perhaps we will hear the song again when we die! Oh, let it come! Let it come!” She shrieked in a deafening note, her mouth parting along invisible seams to open widely and reveal the inside of her throat lined with razer sharp teeth.

Solona spared no time to be disgusted as tentacles erupted from the ground. She ignored the slurping sounds as more of the pill bug Children spilled from pods all around them. She focused on the Mother, throwing everything she had into a firestorm. It swirled around the mound of flesh and she screamed in agony. Her spell was interrupted when one of the Children hopped on her, knocking her off her feet into the squishy ground. She burned it away from her, her palm pushing it off with a fireball in between them. It shriveled and curled up on itself and Solona saw Anders surrounded. She ran to his side and cast a mind blast spell to throw a wave of stunning energy out in a circle around them and then dragged him away from the creatures. “Okay?” she asked.

He nodded and patted her arm. “Thanks.”

Nathaniel was keeping Sigrun clear as she hacked down the tentacles that threatened them. Solona moved back to a closer position to the Mother and began to cast another firestorm. As she worked, Anders dragged the head of his staff along the ground behind her in an arc and erected a wall of ice to keep the smaller creatures off of them. This time, her spell was allowed to reach full potency and the Mother wailed as the flesh peeled away from bone in the intense heat of the swirling miasma of flames. With a spurt of blood from her gaping mouth, the Mother went slack, her upper body folding over and all of her tentacles drooping.

As they stood there and stared at the melting mess of Mother, the rest of the Darkspawn in the pit receded. Solona prayed they were doing the same back at the Keep and that her other friends had survived. Out of nowhere, Anders began to laugh loudly and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Oh, I wanted so badly to stay mad at you, Amell, but that was bloody brilliant!” Then he pushed her away and wrinkled his nose, still smirking. “You smell like a genlock.”

She joined his laughter and lightly punched his shoulder. “You are insufferable.” She glanced at her other two companions who were smiling as well, all forgiven. “Come on, let's get back to the Keep and see if the Mother's death saved some lives.”

 

They returned to an interesting cacophany of action at the Keep. Her friends had fought to the end. The Wardens had all managed to survive, and her soldiers in their silverite armor had held off impossible odds. There were certainly casualties, and the Keep was in dire need of repair, but Voldrik was already drawing up plans for the granite from the mines in the Wending Wood. Oghren was in the medical wing with severe blood loss from taking on two ogres in an attempt to allow the soldiers to fall back from the gates. Solona walked in on him high on pain herbs and laughing about mabari chariots. Some things never changed.

After a few weeks of getting things back in order and beginning the process of rebuilding just as she had in Denerim, Solona took to the road again, handing Amaranthine over to Nathaniel to keep in her absence. She planned to visit from time to time and check in on things, but she was ready to be finished. She had sent Anders out with Pounce and Justice, the three of them making a very strange group of travelers as they recruited for the Wardens. After a short jaunt to the neighboring arling, Anders and Pounce had returned with Kristoff's ashes and Anders refused to talk about what had happened to Justice. Velanna stayed at the keep for a time and Solona had a feeling there might be something sparking between her and Nathaniel. Sigrun was dedicated to fighting Darkspawn and seemed a little disappointed that she had not been killed in the battle with the Mother, but every time she talked about going to the Deep Roads, Solona found something extremely important for her to do that kept her from sacrificing herself for the cause. She passed on that torch to Nathaniel when she left.

As she jogged up the palace steps and slipped into the large doors, she felt at home. The servants greeted her warmly, taking her cloak and her bags to clean up her traveling clothes. She had not informed Alistair that she was returning and she wanted it to be a surprise. She discovered that he was apparently in his study mulling over some treaties that had come from Orlais. She made her way to the study and saw the door open. Alistair had his back to her, his fingertips bracing his forehead and his elbows leaning on the desk as he poured over the papers. His hair was touseled and he looked overworked from the hunch in his shoulders. She crept in the room and made her way silently up behind him. She reached over his chair and traced her fingers over the back of his neck, sparking tiny arcs of lightning from her fingertips.

He jerked in surprise and spun around, his blue eyes falling on her. It took a split second for his adrenaline to fizzle out as he recognized her. “Sol!” he cried, the hand that had grabbed her wrist when he spun pulling her into his lap.

She giggled as she fell into his arms and he hugged her tightly. “Did you miss me?”

He reached up to cup her cheek in his hand and caressed his thumb over her skin. “Oh, you have no idea!” He leaned in and their lips met, the rush of so many months apart pouring between them like a river of lava. She shifted in his lap, straddling his legs in the narrow chair.

A sharp throat clearing in the doorway forced her away from him and he groaned as she sat back, her cheeks a bright crimson. “Welcome back, Lady Amell,” Eamon said with a small grin that he tried to hide behind his mustache.

“Eamon!” Alistair stuttered as his own cheeks reddened. “We were just...”

“Siring bastard heirs?” the man teased as Solona got up and moved away from the chair to greet Eamon properly.

“Well it hadn't gotten that far... she's only just got here,” Alistair mumbled under his breath.

“Your majesty, the Ambassador from Orlais has arrived,” Eamon said.

“Oh!” Alistair stood and adjusted his doublet. “Right. I'll uh... I'll be right there.”

Eamon bowed out and left them. Alistair moved back to her side and pulled her into another tight hug. “Orlesian ambassador?” she asked with curiosity.

“It's nothing yet. I just... reached out through the Wardens and Empress Celene responded positively. I'm hopeful.” he sighed, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You've only just returned. I wish I could take you upstairs and greet you properly...”

“Duty calls. I understand,” she said, running her fingers through his messy hair and straightening it. “I'm not going anywhere. Get your ambassador settled and I'll have the servants prepare us a bath.”

“You always know exactly what to do. Don't ever go away again,” he said with a chuckle. With one last kiss, he left her to go about his business.

 


End file.
